


Princes and Kings

by HollyGlow



Series: Pirates, Princes, and Soldiers [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Hate Crimes, Kidlock, M/M, Parentlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2017-12-31 21:08:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 54,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyGlow/pseuds/HollyGlow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three years after the events of Snow and Ice, Sherlock Holmes and his husband John Watson-Holmes are pulled into a web of unsolved murders. Struggling between being parents and detectives the consulting husbands are summoned to Pendergrass Manor to solve Sherlock's very first case, a case that started when he was a child. A case that led to him locking an entire wing of his mind palace and blocking an entire summer from his memory. Can the husbands find the answers to both the murders and the grief they didn't know they shared before the murderer strikes again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Five and Counting

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to Snow and Ice. It takes place three years after the end of that story. 
> 
> This story does include Parent!Lock (see end notes for more information)
> 
> It's not specifically mentioned in this chapter but this story will include Mycroft/Lestrade as a couple as well.

                John Watson-Holmes sighed contentedly as he sipped the cup of tea in his hands, his feet up on the coffee table and the head of his husband resting easily in his lap. His left hand carded through those brunette locks eliciting a soft sigh from Sherlock Holmes as he enjoyed an easy moment. The first in what felt like ages as they'd been running all over London for the last two weeks working on a series of cases. It was nice to have a moment to relax. They’d been sitting like this for the last half an hour, and though John’s tea was quite cold he was still enjoying the ministrations of drinking it while Sherlock rested and was in physical contact with him. The moment was punctured just then when the sound of a small child crying echoed through the flat. Both of them sighed softly and there was a tense moment as they silently argued about who would get up. Sherlock gave John puppy eyes and John smirked.

                                "Alright, I've got him," John whispered and shimmied out from under Sherlock's head slowly padding into their bedroom. There sprawled out across the dark purple sheets of his fathers’ bed, a little boy with sandy brown wavy locks looked up at John and immediately stopped crying. His goal obviously achieved he crawled over towards John, reaching up for him. John scooped the little boy up easily, cradling him to his chest and carding a hand through those soft locks gently."My poor Hamish, what's a wrong my love?" He whispered, nuzzling his nose against the tiny one pressed into cheek. Hamish sniffled softly and clung to John’s shirt, balling it up in his tiny fists.

                John ignored the sorrow that gnawed at his gut as he held his son close, doing his best to allow the gentleness of his son’s actions to replace the new gaping hole in his heart that was trying to consume him. He fought himself as he was reminded this beautiful boy had been a gift he would never be able to repay Harry for. A gift that was beyond anything he could have ever imagined receiving. Hamish Gregory Holmes was a week away from his first birthday and was currently suffering from a rather bad toothache. The pain coupled with his hurt feelings over the lack of time John and Sherlock had been able to spend with him in the last few weeks had succeeded in convincing his Dads to allow him to sleep in their bed during the day, instead of his own bed which was in John’s former bedroom upstairs. Hamish was long and lanky like his brooding detective father, those same piercing eyes observing every detail of the world behind him from behind his grumpy expression. His hair was wavy like Sherlock’s but colored more like John’s, and though it was clear already he possessed Sherlock’s superior intellect he was softer around the edges and displayed an empathy that could only have come from John. John rocked the boy gently, trying to soothe the eager face staring at him and demanding answers to why he was suffering - while grinning as he remembered the selfless act of Harry that had brought this beautiful boy into their lives.

                 Three years previously, just a month after returning to Baker Street from their honeymoon and after finally seeing the end of the ordeal that had almost cost them both their lives; Harry had shown up at the door of 221B in a terrible state. Disheveled and horribly worn, she'd begged John to help her saying she was in a lot of trouble and it was clear to him that she’d finally be done in by her drinking habit. She'd financially ruined herself, had lost her home, and was at the brink of losing everything she had to her name. Sherlock had been considerably kind in allowing John to give his old room to her and the two of them had spent a hard year helping her try to get sober. It had tested their young relationship almost to the brink of destroying it, but they persevered and just before Christmas that year Harry finally seemed to find her legs again. She'd gotten a job and found a flat share of her own. Within just a few months she seemed to be doing very well and came to Sherlock and John desperate to repay their kindness. She knew that John had always wanted a child, a family to call his own. So she offered using fertilization techniques to be a surrogate for them, thus allowing them to have a child that would be almost exactly as if Sherlock and John had been able to have the child themselves. John had been thrilled by the idea but Sherlock was absolutely convinced he was unfit to raise a child, even with John’s help. Harry talked to Sherlock over the course of the next few months and it was almost startling how quickly Sherlock went from uninterested to completely obsessed over the idea. He offered to provide Harry financial support for the duration of the pregnancy and within two months of the final decision being made Harry found out the treatments were successful and she was carrying their child.

                Just before their second wedding anniversary Harry gave birth to Hamish. Sherlock insisted that they name him Hamish (John’s middle name) and John retaliated by insisting that they also honor his Godfather, Lestrade. Sherlock had initially been reluctant about allowing Greg Lestrade to be Hamish’s Godfather, but that was quickly determined to be something Sherlock would have to deal with because John refused to budge. When Hamish was just over a month old Harry moved into a new flat-share and slowly began to stop contacting John. Within three months she had met a new girlfriend, gone through a bad breakup, and relapsed into drinking. When she finally came back into John’s life she demanded his help. Sherlock refused to help her, utterly convinced she had no true intentions of stopping her alcohol habit this go round and encouraged John not to help her. John did his best to help her; unable to turn away from his sister, but between assisting Sherlock with cases and caring for Hamish he didn’t have much time to spare. Then, just two months ago she had been killed in a motor vehicle accident that was seemingly her own fault.

                                "Daddy?" The little boy’s voice cut through John's thoughts, and he looked down into the confused eyes of his son.

                                "I'm sorry love, is your tooth hurting again?" John asked softly, putting his forehead against the little boys.

                                "Mmhmm..." He grumbled.  “Make it better.” He demanded and John chuckled slightly. Their little Prince was so much like his father.

                                "Let’s go out here and you can sit with your Dad and I’ll get you some medicine." John offered as he carried him out into the living room. He smirked noting that Sherlock had hardly even moved from his previous position on the couch, his legs flung over the end of it where he'd made room for John to sit and be his pillow. Sherlock looked up slightly, surveying Hamish as he deduced the situation.

                                "Hm," Sherlock grunted, "The tooth again?"

                                "Yes. You did make an appointment for him tomorrow, right?" John asked in a reprimanding tone as he gently set Hamish down on Sherlock’s chest. Hamish instantly cuddled into Sherlock, wrapping one hand in his shirt and making happy cooing noises as he did. Sherlock tried valiantly to appear unaffected but he slowly wrapped his long arms around his son, holding him tightly to his own chest.

                                "Yes, John. Don't nag. It's unbecoming of you." He snapped, running his long fingers through Hamish’s hair.

                                "Bloody Git," John giggled as he moved over and found the children's pain medication they'd gotten just for this occasion. “I’m not nagging; I just want to be sure.”

                                "I wonder what's causing it; we don't give him sweets..." Sherlock looked thoughtful.

                                "Well it’s likely one of two things. One of which is his Uncle doesn’t exactly give him the healthiest food when he babysits and the second being that Harry and I had horrible teeth as kids – so he’s likely got some bad genetics." John's voice caught softly and Sherlock grabbed his hand.

                                "It'll be alright, John." John just nodded, focused on doling out the medicine.

                                "Hamish, you have to drink this love. I know you don't like it." John sighed as the boy put up a fight.

                                “No! Icky!” Hamish yelled softly, beating his tiny fist against Sherlock’s chest. John sighed.

                                "Sherlock, help me with your son." John commanded a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

                                "My son? He's our son." Sherlock's smirk widened as he sat up, easily shifting Hamish in his arms as he did. "Hamish, big boys take their medicine. If you do what your Daddy says then I'll even let you watch one of your terrible cartoon shows." Sherlock said firmly, bargaining with the little boy. John laughed himself silly for a long moment before Hamish answered.

                                "Weally Daddy, you’ll let me?" Hamish's eyes went wide as he looked up at Sherlock in awe. John watched as the little hand found its way to Sherlock’s and simply melted the aloof act Sherlock was putting on. He watched smiling at the two of them as the detective leaned down and kissed their son on the top of his head, inhaling that soft sweet scent he carried.

                                "Yes, but it’s pronounced really." Sherlock tutted, John shook his head.

                                "He's one; you can correct his speech when he's older." Hamish drank the medicine but he made a face.

                                "Gross!" He proclaimed loudly, he was clearly proud of himself for using the word correctly.

                                "Good boy." John replied and then put the bottle away. He moved into the kitchen and put the kettle on before losing himself staring out the window.

                Sherlock made a blanket nest for Hamish and settled him down into it on the couch as he put on some horrid children's show that would rot his son's brain. Hamish settled down instantly and hummed along with the songs on the television as he slowly grew sleepy and fought not to close his eyes. Sherlock moved over and pulled John into a hug.

                                "You can't bottle this up John." He whispered, resting his chin on John's head.

                                "I don't want to upset him," John's voice cracked.

                                "He knows his Mommy isn't coming back, John. He knows something bad happened. He's our son, he's smart."

                                "He's so much like you..." John relaxed into Sherlock's arms.

                                "Oh you keep saying that, but it's not true. His mind might be like mine but his heart is all you." Sherlock kissed down over John's ear and his breath was a warm on his neck. "It's not your fault."

                                "Sher...Sherlock." John grunted as the wall of emotion broke and he collapsed into Sherlock's arms crying quietly. Sherlock rubbed his back, rocking him gently and trying to soothe him.

                                "It's not John. We couldn't have known she would get in that car and we were clear across town." His voice was soft, his tone the one he reserved for speaking to his family. "You have been so strong through all of this, tormented as you tried to help her, your loyal heart fighting against everything including me. Going through our separation, seeing her do so well and then fall back into hell, and then to lose her… To see it end this way is destroying you. Please, John, talk to me." Another kiss pressed against John's ear and neck.

                                "She was supposed to be at her flat. She told me she would be." He whispered through a clenched jaw, he was clinging to Sherlock's shirt. "I..."

                                "John, no," Sherlock's voice was tight with emotion as he tried to soothe his husband, completely unprepared to see him grieving like this. He knew there was so much under this grief, he'd let John go too long without dealing with it. "You haven't failed anyone. Not me, not yourself, not Hamish, and not Harry. Harry made her choice, she was an addict John. As an addict still in recovery I can tell you that her mind was not on you when she started that car." His tone cut through John's sorrow and slowed his tears, slowly drawing the doctor's eyes back up.

                                "I..." John didn't know what to say.

                                "It will be alright. But you can't hold all of this emotion inside. You have five years of guilt burning inside your mind and you need to get it out."

                                "I don't..."

                                "Even now you're going to try to say I'm wrong?" Sherlock's mouth hitched into a grin.

                                "Deducing me doesn't make it easier, Sherlock." John chided.

                                "It does, because it helps you when you can't say the words yourself. We'll get Hamish to the dentist tomorrow and then I'll see if Greg or Molly can watch him for a few days. We can take a holiday..."

                                "No, running away from our home isn’t going to help. It’s not his fault I think of her when I hold him, he’s the greatest gift she ever gave me." John whispered but pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock wrapped around him deepening the kiss and chuckling lightly when John moaned.                     

                                "Our son is in the living room," He teased.

                                "Oh sod off." John laughed and made them both some tea. "I can't believe you let him watch that crap."

                                "It's the only thing he likes to watch when he's sick..."

                                "Imagine that, sick and all he wants to watch is crap telly," John grinned.

                                “NO,” They heard Hamish shout suddenly and they both ran to the living room just in time to see Hamish toss his teddy bear at the TV. “RED NOT BLUE! Look at the shape! ” The little boy yelled as he was watching one of those children shows that pretends to ask the audience for input. John doubled over laughing and Sherlock simply consented to look slightly sheepish.

                                “He’s yours alright.”

                                “Well at least we know he pays attention.” Sherlock smiled and sat down next to Hamish, gently rubbing his back.

                                “Uncle Gweg!” Hamish yelled just as Lestrade took the first few stairs up to the flat.

                                “With an insane eye for detail…” John smirked.

                                “Gwandma!” Hamish giggled as Mrs. Hudson came up the stairs.

                                “Hey there my little detective,” Greg smirked, pulling Hamish up into his arms.

                                “Where?” John and Sherlock both asked at the same time and the four of them laughed for a moment, Hamish looking confused.

                                “Seriously, you two have got to stop that. It’s near King’s Cross. Assassin style killing. Will you come?” Greg asked softly, cuddling Hamish for another moment and then setting him down on the couch as Mrs. Hudson sat down with him, talking quietly to the boy.

                                “Why us?” Sherlock asked even as he moved and pulled on his coat.

                                “It’s got the same M.O. as some of those unsolved cases you keep an eye on.” Greg shrugged.

                                “Then yes, well definitely come.” Sherlock motioned.

                                “One of us has to stay with Hamish.” John hadn’t budged, crossing his arms.

                                “You’ll want to come.” Greg said darkly, turning his attention directly to John. A look Sherlock couldn't read passed between the two men and he quirked an eyebrow.

                                “Me?” John’s face tightened as he looked at Greg.

                                “Yes, it turns out that it may be..." Greg started but John cut him off.

                                "Harry..." John grunted and strode over on instinct to get his coat.

                                “Go on you two, I’ll look after Hamish.” Mrs. Hudson smiled.

                                "Yea! Go get bad guys! I stay wif Gwandma." Hamish giggled.

                                "You two be careful." Mrs. Hudson said softly as John walked over and knelt down to look at Hamish.

                                "No sweets." He said sternly and Hamish crossed his arms, pouting.

                                "I know. Go on. I'll make you something for dinner in case you two get in late. If you're not back by his bedtime I'll just set him up in my guest room. Goodness knows what Sherlock will do if he goes too much longer without a case." She teased.

                                "I know a whole day," John couldn't stop the giggles.

                                "We'll text you, thank you Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock said softly, flushing a bit. He kissed her cheek and hugged Hamish.

                                "Thank you." John smiled and kissed her other cheek, leaving her beaming. He hugged Hamish as well.

                                "I love you Daddys! Get those bad guys!" Hamish giggled.

                                "We love you too." They said together and smiled as they followed Greg out to his car.

                They rode with Greg to the crime scene. When they arrived Donovan nodded to them and let the three of them in. Anderson sighed and turned away from his work, walking clear across the area to a van and sitting down. The scene was an alleyway, not to wide - maybe a single car could fit down it but it was littered on both sides with bins and rubbish. A young man with sandy brown hair lay sprawled out on a pile of trash bags. He was well dressed and looked well kempt. He was wearing a button down under a short black jacket. A single gold necklace with a snake twisted into a figure eight was his only accessory. Black slacks with no signs of wear, and polished black shoes completed the outfit. He was maybe twenty five.

                                “So what happened?” Sherlock asked as he and John both immediately went to work.

                                “No witnesses, no one saw him get off the train, no one saw him come down here. His train ticket says he came in this morning. Three hour trip with a return booked tomorrow morning. He’s a younger guy, we’ve got an ID – Jared Pendergrass.” Greg rattled off. John snapped around and narrowed his eyes. Sherlock felt John's energy tighten and he looked at his husband with confusion.

                                “Pendergrass?” He demanded sharply, walking over and almost snatching the ID out of Greg's hands.

                                “Yes. His brother…” Greg started but John cut him off.

                                “Was murdered last year,” John said softly, clenching his fist. His jaw tightened but neither Sherlock nor Greg had the intention of pressing him from information.

                                “The only markings are these two little punctures on the side of his neck.” Greg motioned, pointing them out. Both of them had of course already examined them.

                                “I’ve seen this before.” Both Sherlock and John said at the same time, both of them turning to look at the other with a confused look.  There was a tense silence as the two of them tried to size the other up. This was not something they had ever discussed and it was clear that somewhere in the heart of this was something that both of them were keen to keep private.

                                “Okay, seriously stop.” Greg sighed, trying to snap them back into the moment. It was bad enough having them flirting, this was positively terrifying.

                                “Greg, I need the files for Elisa Monroe, Dominic Argyle, Kevin McDougall, and Jensen, and James Pendergrass. As well as everything you have on this case already. ”John said from where he was reexamining the body. Sherlock looked at John with wide eyes; those were five unsolved cases that Sherlock himself had been studying for many years. Greg seemed to catch on and looked at Sherlock with confusion for a moment, he didn't like the look he found there.

                                “Sherlock aren’t those the…”

                                “Get him the files and shut up! Everyone shut up!” Sherlock growled, using his normal impertinence to cover up the fact he didn’t want Greg mentioning his personal goal of solving those cases. It was John's turn to be confused and he turned to watch Sherlock work, why would Sherlock be interested in those cases?

                                “Alright… I’ll call and see what I can do John.” Greg stepped off and flipped open his mobile, pacing away from the two of them and sighing.

                                “The same wound…” John mumbled to himself, checking over the body.  Sherlock felt it nag at his mind but the two fell silent as they took in the details of the scene.

-Two small slit like cuts on the victims neck, meant to mimic and animal bite but with jagged edges clearly from a specific type of knife. _Same M.O. as before, a specific tool limited to a specific person or persons_

-Powder on his fingers, from a gun. _Small caliber, not located with the body. Taken._

-Youngest son of a wealthy man, male line eliminated. _Focused targets, specifically selected_.

-No sign of trauma to the body, no struggle. _Assailant was well known to the victim. Someone trusted._

-Overnight bag tossed about on the ground, only in town for a few days. _Meeting with someone._

                                “Sherlock…” John called out softly, a piece of paper in his gloved hands. They had both just examined the contents of the spilled bag and come to the same conclusion.

                                “What is it John?” Sherlock looked up slightly annoyed, but his annoyance dropped when he saw the look on John's face. Good finally information of use.

                                “He was coming to see us.” John held out the paper, it had their address written on it. Along with a note scrawled along the bottom, hastily with a smear of blood on it read: 'John, Harry was retaliation.'  

                John’s body language was rigid and closed off; he also wasn’t looking Sherlock in the eyes. Sherlock watched as John became a mask of emotion, something Sherlock couldn't read no matter how hard he tried. It was a trick John had taught himself during their short separation before Hamish was born. It worried him, John was somehow connected to the Pendergrass Murders and he wasn't about to tell Sherlock how. Greg sighed and hung up the phone, moving back over and crossing his arms. When Sherlock stood and signaled he was ready to speak, Greg spoke first.

                                “Sherlock has the most up to date versions of the files I can get you. He’ll have to let you see them.” Greg shrugged.

                                “Why do you…” John looked at him, and the two of them fought to analyze each other. Trying to deduce the shared connection to these cases without actually revealing it to the other.

                                “I’ll explain later.” Sherlock sighed. “This is just like the others, except that he was coming to see _us_. Harry’s death needs to be reinvestigated.”

                                “I’ll send you everything we’ve got. Anything else?” Greg asked and was surprised when John spoke up. Three years and he'd still not gotten use to the fact that John was getting just as fast as Sherlock.

                                “The killer knew the victim,” John cut over Sherlock before could speak. “Judging by this shoe print it was a male, tall. Older, he limps slightly to one side…” Sherlock couldn’t hide his smirk. "Likely an old injury coupled with arthritis or degenerative bone disease." John trailed off and Sherlock picked up, smirking as he did.

                                “Previous military experience, judging by the evenness of his stride.” Sherlock continued on. “He attacked from a close distance but the victim was concerned about his, he was turned slightly away from him. Victim died slowly, but there is no blood to suggest he bled out. Likely he was administered a poison to continue the snake bite theory that has pervaded these cases. In his last moments he wrote a note to John, because he was coming to Baker Street to see us. He is the second son of James Pendergrass, and with his daughter Elisa also dead his entire heritage has been destroyed."

                                "Not entire," John mumbled. "Georgina, James' wife is still alive and James had a nephew he left everything to." John's voice held sentiment, it intrigued Sherlock but he knew John well enough to realize he wasn't about to get answers.

                                “You two…” Greg shook his head, "Are still bloody amazing."

                                “I think that’s all I can do for now.” Sherlock said suddenly standing, it was a lie all three of them knew it. But Sherlock clearly realized there was something deeper at work here for John and wanted to speak with him about it alone. “I’ll need to review the other case files and then I can let you know more.”

                Darkness was coming slowly and John was pale as a ghost, so Greg just nodded and let them go. Sherlock led the way to the street, putting his hand on John's back once they were clear of the crime scene and hailing a cab. John hadn't said a word and Sherlock could feel him trembling slightly against his hand. The unasked question hanging around them were almost biting at them, their curiosity gnawing away as they both tried to wordlessly figure out why these cases mattered to the other.

                                “John, we need to collaborate…”

                                “I can’t talk about it right now Sherlock… I can’t.” John looked upset and Sherlock let his fingers intertwine with John’s. "It's too much." There were tears in John's eyes.

                                “Can you at least tell me why you’re so upset? I can't help you if you don't talk to me, John." Sherlock pulled John closer to him and John rested his head against his shoulder.

                                “It's obvious already, Sherlock. I know you've figured it out." John smirked slightly.

                                "You knew him." Sherlock looked bored but he kept his body soft.

                                "Yes, I did." John conceded but his face was still tight.

                                "How..."

                                "Please just leave it for now. I promise I will tell you more later, but for now let's just not think about it. This is our first possible night alone in ages." John looked up at Sherlock smiled.

                                “Alright…”

                Heavy silence fell around them as they looked out the windows, still cuddled together but unspeaking. Neither liked the idea the other had some secret they were keeping about this, but John couldn't talk about that summer yet. The pain he felt was still so strong and he didn't know if he could trust himself with it out in the open. He sighed trying vainly to remember _his_ face, but as always it eluded him. Sherlock meanwhile had slipped a small black case, just big enough for a key from his pocket and tapped it idly against his lips. It was something he'd taken to doing just in the last few months, since Harry's death. He wouldn't tell John what was in the case, only that it was a memento he wasn't quite ready to share. They arrived back at Baker Street and John opened the door with a sigh. He went to move towards Mrs. Hudson's flat when he saw a little envelope taped to the railing. Sherlock pulled it down and read it in a whisper.

                                "Boys, Greg called and said you'd had another tough case. Hamish has been really sleepy all afternoon so I'm just going to keep him with me. I put a casserole in the oven (Sherlock you have got to stop keeping experiments in there!), just warm it up for a bit. You two deserve a nice night alone. I'll bring Hamish up when he wakes in the morning. Love Mrs. H." Sherlock blushed slightly.

                                "She's far too good to us." John whispered, also blushing some. The blush changed however when Sherlock rounded on him and pushed him into the wall, leaning down and kissing him hard. "S-Sherlock?" John panted, the heat rising fast in his body. Every time Sherlock touched him like this is obliterated his thoughts. It didn't matter that they were married, Sherlock's passion was still intense and unexpected. It had been ages since they'd been able to do anything more than wank each other off in the shower, so both of them were tight with need.

                                "I don't think I will ever get used to how incredibly arousing it is to hear you announce details about a crime scene." Sherlock whispered nuzzling over his ear. "You've gotten so much better lately... Even noticing things I miss." He was purring the compliments into John's ear, making him shiver.

                                "Now you know how I feel." John smirked as Sherlock kissed him again, slipping his fingers under his shirt. John groaned, his whole body screaming for more. It wasn't fair what this man, _his husband_ could do to him.

                                "And that face, being so utterly devoid of clues for me..." His mouth trailed down over John's neck, his hand wrapping in his hair. "It's torment..."

                                "This is all very lovely and I want to continue but I need to eat. Unlike you and Hamish I can't go three days without food." John teased and Sherlock groaned.

                                "One of these days John Hamish Watson-Holmes I am going to fuck you in this hallway." He grinned as John dissolved under the heat of the statement and turned walking up the stairs, leaving John panting against the wall.

                The way that man said his name... John followed him almost helplessly up the stairs and sighed as he turned the oven on. He sank down, watching Sherlock as the detective moved about the flat clearing the table off so they could eat like civilized adults. Not much had changed in the flat in the last three years, with the exception of the toys somewhat scattered about and the fact that Sherlock now clearly labeled his experiments if only so they could be sure Hamish didn't get into anything too deadly. The most marked change however was skull on the mantle was now wearing a small hat which made Sherlock smile every time he looked at it. Hamish had put it on the skull sometime around Christmas the year before and neither of them could bear to take it down. But both of them were tight with silent feelings and the weight of the unspoken secrets resting between them. Sherlock got out plates and silverware while John got them both some water. Sherlock even attempted to eat while John wolfed down a large serving of food. They sat quietly for awhile, content in their mutual silence until Sherlock spoke.

                                "John, have you ever forgotten someone?" He asked softly, ripping through John's thoughts in the way only he could.

                                "Yes." John sighed as he admitted it. "I had a friend when I was younger but I can't remember what his face looked like."

                                "The same." Sherlock said softly, the little case finding its' way back into his hand. "Only I have an entire wing of my mind palace that has seemingly reappeared." He mused, no longer out of sorts about confessing these things to John. "It's locked though, but I can hear children laughing..." John knew this was somehow linked to the case.

                                "We should go to Pendergrass Manor, I can e-mail Georgina." John offered.

                                "We can discuss that in the morning." Sherlock smirked and he pulled John up and to him. "Or the very late afternoon because I am going to own you so thoroughly I don't think you'll wake before noon." Sherlock's voice was pure heat against John's ear as he pulled him into the bedroom.

                It had been ages since they'd touched each other for more than five minutes and something in both of them had been wound so tightly it had almost snapped. The passion between them was always strong and they'd been denied from expressing it as easily as they had in the beginning. For three years now they'd barely had any moments to themselves, except for that very heated make up weekend after their two month separation. Sherlock closed the door to their bedroom and almost ripped John's shirt off desperate to put his hands on _his_ husband. John melted, clearly desperate for the attention Sherlock was giving him. Their lips smashing together in violent kisses that left bruising feelings on each of their mouths as they pulled apart to breathe and remove clothing. Sherlock gently pushed John down on the bed and placed kisses over his jaw, his neck, his chest... Taking his time to worship every inch of John.

                                "Oh God Sherlock," John whimpered, clawing into the mattress.

                                "It's been too long, John..." Sherlock groaned, his voice desperate with need. "Too long since I have gotten to do this." _Don't rush me_.

                                "Oh..." John forced out as Sherlock pushed down on his hips, primal force and desire behind every motion.

                John hadn't even seen Sherlock grab the lube but he jolted and moaned when Sherlock pressed two fingers into the tight ring of muscle and dropped his mouth down over his aching erection. Warm bliss rolled through his body as Sherlock worked and his mind just blanked out. All the grief, emotion, worry, and desperation just bleeding away into sheer desire. Sherlock teased him for what felt like hours, building him up close to release and then denying it until John was reduced to a begging whimpering mess. Then he buried his own aching cock into John, pressing in until he wasn't sure where one of them ended and the other began. Their mouths crashed together as Sherlock slowly and feverishly claimed him, building them both up and then slowing down again; continuing to deny both of them their release until he wasn't sure they could stand it a moment more. Claiming John's mouth with another bruising passionate kiss they both shouted into each other as they came so hard they saw stars. Sherlock collapsed down on John, bracing his weight so as not to crush him and they both lay there panting for a long time before either of them spoke.

                                "God damn you're evil." John grunted as Sherlock slipped out of him and collapsed against him. He fumbled about, finding his shirt and wiping the cooling sticky mess from his chest.

                                "I...Wanted to..." Sherlock was panting hard, John just nodded.

                                "I love you," John whispered as Sherlock pressed into him, cuddling him close.

                                "I love you so much more." Sherlock grinned but both of them passed easily into a deep slumber within moments.


	2. The Keys to the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Holmes receive a summons to Pendergrass Estate where Sherlock and John begin to unlock the mystery of the summer that began it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No real dangers in this chapter, but it does include the beginning of a long back story for the boys that I created. This chapter and the next will be a bit lighter before sinking into the actual case solving here soon!

                The next morning dawned overcast and grey matching John's mood as he pulled himself from bed. Sherlock had rolled over during the night, likely during some dream and was now splayed across two thirds of the soft mattress. John got up and pulled a fresh pair of pants, trousers, and a t-shirt from the dresser before slipping them on. Just as he was about to head into the living room he heard Sherlock mumble. It wasn’t very often that Sherlock talked during dreams, so he easily held John’s fascination as he did so now.

                _Sherlock could see that this was a dream of a memory, he knew because the little boy he was watching run around with a scarf tied around his head and an eye patch was himself at the approximate age of seven. There was rain falling all around him and the ground was sodden, indicating it had been raining for at least two days. He followed behind himself and he could tell the scenery was a lush forest in the middle of the grounds of a large manor or estate. It was near dark, the weak sunlight filtering through the rain. What surprised him most were the tears on his young face as he ripped the eye patch up, clearly searching for something or someone in the rain. He looked down over the hasty footprints, shoeless and those of another small child, that littered the ground in a confusing pattern around his younger self. They were clearly meant to distract but he could easily see the truth in the pattern._

_“Captain?! Where are you?!” His voice called earnestly, full of emotion. “Please tell me. Your prints end right around here. I know you’re close. Please…” He started to sink to his knees and an overwhelming ache formed in his chest. “You’ll get sick.” The amount of sentiment his younger self felt was boiling over inside his own body. He’d never felt so much sentiment for anyone aside from John, well at least not recently. Where was this memory? Where was this place? “Please,” The boy called out a name but a loud clap of thunder obliterated it. “Please tell me where you are. They’re making me go away I don’t want to see you hurt before they separate us.”_

_“I’m fine.” A broken voice called back, young and choked with tears. There’s something about the inflection of the tones that pulls him in, he is almost desperate to hear it again, to place that oddly familiar tone._

                                "Captain!” Sherlock yelled in a somewhat childlike voice, tears catching in his throat. John moved over and put his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock sat straight up, grabbing it like he would die if he lost contact with John. John was somewhat surprised by the emotion in Sherlock’s eyes but he could see how the dream slipped from his mind.

                                “Who’s Captain?” John asked with a smirk. “Are you having naughty dreams again?”

                                “No… It was a memory.” Sherlock said softly, putting his hands over his eyes. He missed the tension that shot through John as he spoke and John instantly shoved it away. “From when I was little… I must have locked it away in my mind palace somewhere…”

                                “A memory?” John asked softly, almost desperately. Sherlock turned to him, now aware of the tension and pain hidden on John’s face.

                                “I think so, of when I went to…”                Sherlock paused as he tried to remember.

                                "DADDYS!!!!" A voice screamed from the living room. It tore the two of them out of their musings, and both of them happy to have the distraction. The dream was cast aside and they both giggled.

                                "Ah, the dragon awakens." Sherlock laughed and rolled out of bed, rummaging around for some clothes for himself.

                They giggled more and once they were both dressed John opened the door. Hamish was already dressed and he was standing by the table beaming, which could only mean that Mrs. Hudson helped him make breakfast again. Both Sherlock and John flinched slightly remembering the last time that had happened. Burnt toast and scalded coffee aside that little face was too cute to ignore so they’d eaten it with gusto, which they would be only too happy to do again - however just as they crossed the living room a young man knocked on the door.

                                "I'm sorry to interrupt I have a letter here for Mr. Watson." The young man was in a pressed suit, short black hair, and brown eyes that were focused on his purpose.

                                "Watson-Holmes." John corrected him and took the letter, signing for it.

                                "Yes sir, urgent." The young man nodded. “From Pendergrass Estate, Sir.”

                                “Oh, you’re erm… Johnson, Kevin Johnson.” John said softly and the boy nodded.

                                “Yes sir, I was dispatched last night to bring this to you. I hope that we will find your answer favorable. I’ll take my leave.” The man gave a curt nod as he turned and left.

                                “Daddys?” Hamish asked, grabbing Sherlock’s trouser leg. Sherlock smiled.

                                “Your Daddy just got something important.” Mrs. Hudson said to Hamish, wiping a bit of flour off his cheek. John ripped open the letter and his eyes went wide.

                                "What is it John?" Sherlock asked as he scooped Hamish up and cuddled him close.

                                "It's from Georgina… Er Lady Pendergrass, she..." He corrected himself quickly as he shook his head. "She wants to hire us to solve the murders of her family. We've been summoned to her estate. Us and bloody hell, Mycroft too. Here," John unfolded the letter. "My dearest John, I hope this letter finds you well, at least better than I am found while writing it. I have been informed that you and your husband were called to the scene of my latest tragedy, the death of my youngest son. I know you understand what this means and it seems that I am in need of the two brightest detective minds that I have ever known. There is a modern history of bad blood between the Pendergrass and Holmes families that I rather desire to fix, so if you would be so kind I would request that you, your husband, your son, and your brother-in-law and his husband come to Pendergrass Estate. You have not seen a winter at the estate and I assure you it is quite beautiful, a fitting backdrop for fixing wounds of the past. I have had our guest estate prepared and it is awaiting your swift arrival. I beg you to come, John, you my dearest who has been on my side since the beginning of this ordeal so long ago. You are now one of the only ones I can trust to see this through. I know you have been afraid of reuniting with your family but I assure you that I do not hold any of the same views as your father and welcome you to be yourself, just as my beloved James and I always have. It is fitting to know you and Sherlock have wed, though I doubt you know why I feel that way. It has been a long time since your light has graced our estate and I truly hope you will bring it back. I have been deeply troubled that Harry may have been drawn into this web and I truly hope this will bring peace to all of the parties involved. Let us set the wounds of the past to right and solve this mystery. Please come at once, ever yours... Georgina," John folded the letter and looked back at Sherlock. Sherlock was torn between several emotions as he looked at his husband, the chief of which was a sort of anger. It wasn’t directed at John, but it seemed to be about him.

                                “We should go straight away.” Sherlock whispered, sitting down to breakfast.

                                “We can’t. We’ve missed so much with Hamish already. I want to go to the dentist with him.”

                                "Alright then we can take Hamish to the dentist and then we can head out there." Sherlock countered a smirk on his face.

                                "We can't take him and solve a case." John sighed.

                                “I wanna go!” Hamish said emphatically.

                                “Hamish, love, you’re too young for crime scenes.” John laughed, sliding into his chair.

                                “It can be a holiday of sorts.” Sherlock pressed on.

                                “We can’t work together if we take him, we’ll have to divide our time. We work so much better when we can look things over at each other’s side.” John argued in a small voice.

                                "You can so, since we’re coming too." Greg called from the foyer, hanging up his coat as he and Mycroft entered the flat. Mrs. Hudson easily produced two more chairs motioning for the new arrivals to join in breakfast. "Special request sent to the Yard this morning, not to mention the letter Mycroft got a dawn.” Greg yawned, running a hand over his face. “What's going on here?" Greg crossed his arms but his sternness didn’t reach his eyes.

                                “Uncle!” Hamish squealed and launched himself into Greg’s arms. Greg easily hoisted him up.

                                "John how do you know Georgina Pendergrass?" Sherlock asked furrowing his brow in the way he did when a clue was in front of him but missing.

                                "Our families are connected." John supplied in a carefully guarded tone. Sherlock growled slightly. “She said as much in the letter. It’s nothing important.” He focused his attention on buttering his toast.

                                "Lying!" Hamish announced proudly and the room burst into giggles.

                                "Sherlock Holmes have you been teaching our son to read people?" John stood and strode over to Sherlock, leaning down towards him and pretending to be angry.

                                "I don't have to. It’s obvious you are.” Sherlock smirked.

                                “It’s…” Hamish looked thoughtful. “Eye twitch,” He pronounced grandly, enjoying the wide smile he got from Sherlock as a reward. They all laughed again. “Greg, I'm taking you've already packed?"

                                "Yes, of course.” Greg blushed slightly. Mycroft finally stepped into the room fully, having dispatched their car. John leaned back and slowly sank back down into his chair with a smirk.

                                "Good morning, Mycroft." John and Sherlock said at the same time, both smirking.

                                "Yes, morning it is. Incidentally John, I wasn't aware your family had any connections with someone the likes of the Pendergrass family." Mycroft was not as rigid as he usually was, moving easily into the room and surveying the breakfasting family.

                                "There's a lot you don't know about me Mycroft, and I worked hard to make it that way." John smirked and Sherlock looked at him with pure heat. “I’m surprised it worked.” He laughed.

                                "Anyway, we can take Hamish to the dentist since if he has a cavity it’s all My’s fault anyway.” Greg said walking over and setting Hamish down so he could sit at the table. Mycroft's jaw tensed.

                                "It is not." Mycroft snapped, slowly moving to sit down.

                                "You're the only one of us with a sweet tooth." John countered.

                                "Come on, go pack and take the first train out. We'll be right behind you when Hamish is done at the dentist. We'll call it a working holiday, yea?" Greg laughed.

                                "You're getting off on this aren't you?" Sherlock demanded, picking up his thankfully unburned toast. "Pretending to be a Daddy and running off with us to solve a crime." His eyes sparkled.

                                "Don't be thick, Sherlock." Greg said quickly but blushed slightly.

                                “No, we’re going to go to the dentist with Hamish.” John replied sternly.

                                “We can go to the dentist and then the five of us can head out together this evening. I am sure Lady Pendergrass won’t mind.” Sherlock shrugged.

                                “Haste is of importance in this situation Sherlock. You should know the Pendergrass family was once strongly connected to ours. I am sure Lady Pendergrass mentioned it in her letter. Though we haven’t seen them since you were… Seven I think.” He paused looking thoughtful as he sought a memory.

                                "Wait, what?" John looked at Sherlock and narrowed his eyes. _Seven?_ Sherlock flinched towards his pocket and John knew he was intending to withdraw that black case. He wanted desperately to run over, snatch the case and wrench it open. He wanted to childishly reveal the secret it contained.

                There was no way, was there? John mused slightly, his eyes on Sherlock and his breathing slowed. Sherlock had been at the Pendergrass Estate when he was seven, which would have meant John was ten or eleven. That would mean it could have been _that summer._ The moment drug out until it felt like they were the only two in the room. Mycroft had said Sherlock once wanted to be a pirate… But could it really… Were they really _that_ lucky? No, the real world didn't work like that. That was only in stories. It was ridiculous, there was no way it was _that_ summer.

                                "John?" Sherlock asked quietly, trying to get him to speak.

                                "Nothing, forget it. Let's pack. I don’t want this turning into another Baskerville where you have to use half my stuff because you forgot your own.” John barked at Sherlock and with a piece of toast half in his mouth he stood and moved toward the bedroom.

                                "Oh don't nag!" Greg shouted after them.

                                "I'm not nagging!" Sherlock and Greg both giggled softly.

                                “Daddy are we going someplace?” Hamish asked quietly.

                                “Yes my little Prince we are.” Sherlock said softly, content to remain where he was and finish his breakfast.

                                “Yea!” Hamish giggled and as soon as Mycroft sat down the little boy wormed his way into his lap and snuggled against his uncle. "I like adventures."

                                “That is just precious.” Greg giggled.

                                “You’re only saying that because you want one.” Mycroft retorted.

                                “Only if you promise not to give him or her sweets. I'm serious you’re probably the cause of little Hamish’s toothache.”

                                “I’m not little!” Hamish growled and Greg laughed.

                                “You’re not so little anymore are you, dear?” Mrs. Hudson said softly. She fixed a cup of tea and took it to John who muttered a thank you. “You two always rushing about. I suppose I should expect it by now. I had thought Hamish would settle you two down some.”

                                “Oh Mrs. Hudson, you know Sherlock would go insane. I don’t think the walls could handle it.” They both laughed before she returned to the others.

                A few hours later Mycroft’s car was loaded down with all of their things and they drove to the dentist. Mycroft and Greg decided they would arrange a rental car for the other end of the trip and they left the detectives to their son’s appointment. The dentist was only with Hamish for a few minutes before she extracted a small piece of plastic from under his tooth.

                                “It looks like your little man was rough housing and got a piece of debris stuck under the tooth. I’ve put some antibiotic gel on it for now. If he develops a fever you can call us and we’ll get him started on some oral antibiotics. Just make sure he brushes and uses mouthwash and he should be fine in a day or two.” She smiled.

                                “Rough housing…” John turned to Sherlock as they walked out, the little boy sucking on a sugar free lollipop.

                                “Erm, well…” Sherlock blushed just slightly. “It seems that when he fell off the couch last week he did have something in his mouth. I didn’t think he’d…”

                                “Daddy was tickling me and I fell and hit the table.” Hamish said quietly.

                                “Rat,” Sherlock teased tickling him. The boy giggled.

                                “I leave you two alone for five minutes, I swear.” John was laughing though and the three of them shared a family hug just as Greg and Mycroft returned.

                                “If you had told me seven years ago I’d be watching _this_ someday I would likely have considered you to be high.” Greg teased.

                                “My brother has always been capable of intense affection, though he had restricted himself from it after… Well since he was a child.” Mycroft added as they all piled back into the car.

                They arrived at Pendergrass Estate just before nightfall and were welcomed by three servants. Two of them took their things to the large four bedroom guest estate and the other led them into the main house. The four men were looking over the inside of the house when a voice called and all of them turned almost exactly at the same moment to face the owner of the voice.

                                “Johnny!” A voice called out and Lady Pendergrass swept down the stairs almost at a run. She had long chestnut hair mixed with grey streaks and laughing green eyes. She was older, about the same age as John’s parents but she looked strong and fit. “Oh Johnny, I haven’t seen you since before you went to war.” She laughed and pulled him into a strong hug. John forgot he was trying to hide anything and he sank into the embrace with a few tears as he hugged her back.

                                “Aunt Georgie!” He exclaimed. “It’s good to see you.” Sherlock’s brow hitched up quiet far and Mycroft seemed to tense as well. _Aunt_?

                                “Oh look at you, look at you!” She exclaimed, holding him back to survey him. “You don’t look so bad considering all you’ve been through.” She turned then to Sherlock and smiled warmly, holding out her hand. “Sherlock, it’s been many years. I’m not even sure if you remember being here. I see you opted for a different career?” She asked softly as he shook her hand. John’s brow quirked and he looked almost astonished. “Oh look at this handsome little man.” She knelt down and looked at Hamish.

                                “Hamish, this is my Aunt Georgina. Georgie this is...” John said as an introduction.

                                "Hamish Gwegowy Watson-Holmes!" Hamish said loudly, puffing his chest out proudly.

                                "Oh isn't he just lovely." She gushed and the boy blushed a little.

                                “May I call you Auntie too?” Hamish asked softly, looking rather shy. She laughed.

                                “Of course you can!” She ruffled his hair before turning to Mycroft. “Ah, Mycroft, it’s been a few years. You look well.”

                                “Thank you Lady Pendergrass. This is my husband Greg.”

                                “Yes, the Detective Inspector. Pleasure to meet you,” She smiled. “Dinner is ready in the dining room if you’d like. It's just us I'm afraid, although I believe I my brother and his wife are coming the end of the week to stay the weekend. Oh, Johnny," She turned back to him, "Your mother came by earlier today." John's entire body went rigid and his face tightened. "She said she wanted to see you but she was quite sure you wouldn't want to see her just yet. But she left something for you that she said you needed to see first. I had it put in the drawing room for you so that you could look it over immediately." She laughed. "I knew that a mystery like that wouldn't let you rest for long. You two can join us when you're ready." Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Are you hungry little man?" Georgina asked softly.

                                “Very!” Hamish giggled.

                                “Left something for me?” John whispered and he knew he and Sherlock both wouldn’t be able to eat until they investigated. So the two of them immediately scaled the stairs, almost running for the room. John went there straight by memory, without worrying about the path. What he didn't notice was that Sherlock seemed to know exactly where he was going as well.

                They entered the drawing room and Sherlock swept deeper into the room to look it over. John however stopped and looked over the baby blue colored rectangle box sitting on the table directly in the room. It was covered with filigree patterns and the lid was barely held on. There was a letter on the top of the box. John opened it and read it softly.

                                "Johnny, it's been years since we spoke last. I know that's my fault as much as anyone else's. I never believed the same things your father did but I had to side with him in order to maintain peace. Since he disappeared last year - yes I know you didn't know about that; I told Harry but I imagine she never mentioned it. But since he has been gone I realized I should never have chosen him over my children. I want to fix things between us and I know that the darkness between us started during that last summer you spent at Pendergrass Estate, the summer you lost James. So I am sending you this as a peace offering - this isn't the box you left with me. This is the box you left with Harry, the one she took when she left home at fifteen. I hope it will show you that I want to fix things... Please call me, I should very much like to meet my son-in-law and grandson. Love always, Mom." John whispered and he all but threw the letter aside. That box, _that_ box.

                                "Your relationship with your parents..." Sherlock began.

                                "Was strained, Dad didn't support Harry or... Me. He was homophobic, afraid of different and I was different. But look at this, you might just love this. A piece of my past." He grinned and opened the box, but his face tightened. "Oh... This..."

                                "What is it?" Sherlock asked softly and he walked closer. John's hands were shaking as he reached out and pulled out a golden chain. He held it up and a gold key hung from the chain with a piece of blue sea glass tied to it. His thoughts were held by the key until he heard Sherlock inhale a sharp breath and felt something like rage sweep through him. Sherlock was confronted with the impossible, he couldn't believe it. _How could it be John? How could I have missed this?!_

                                "Where did you get that?!" Sherlock demanded angrily, sweeping over to John and straightening to his full height with anger.

                                "What?" John snapped from his thoughts and met Sherlock's eyes. _No, no, no, no._ "How do you even know what _that_ is?" He asked softly.

                                "I..." Sherlock paused, he was paler as he stepped back. He extracted the small black case from his chest pocket and slid it open. He slowly, with a trembling hand extracted an exact copy of the key but with a green piece of sea glass.

                                "How?" John asked shaking. _How could I not have known?_

                                "There's only one explanation, John..." Sherlock whispered. "The wing in my mind palace, the one that's locked... It's..."

                                "There's two keys, you need them both to open it." He replied softly, reaching over to touch Sherlock's cheek.

                                "You're... My Captain." Sherlock whispered, his hand touching John's cheek as well. A whole host of emotions ran through both of them and Sherlock felt John tremble.

                                "You're the Pirate Prince." Their eyes were both wide as they just stood there for a long moment in silence. Their breath shaking their chests as it moved in and out.

                                "James Pendergrass is your uncle." Sherlock sighed softly, furrowing his brow. "We were here together weren't we? When he was murdered..."

                                "Yea..." John stepped back and reached back into the box, he pulled out a small bundle wrapped with an scarf, it was light yellow with orange and green strips. When he unwrapped it Sherlock could see it contained an eye patch, a stuffed parrot, and a small plastic toy sword.

                                "Have you known?"

                                "No. I blocked your face. I couldn't..." A tremble ran through John's body, betraying his sorrow.

                                "I locked it away, the door wouldn't open..." Sherlock sighed and John walked over holding up the key.

                                "We have to open it together. Remember?" John whispered.

                _"You shouldn't have come after me, Erik." Sherlock could see the face now, the face of a very young John full of sorrow._

_"I had to, no one else could have found you John." Sherlock heard his own young voice, why was John calling him Erik... There was sorrow clawing at his chest._

_"Here... Aunt Georgie took me into the village while you were getting better. We had these made, because..."_

_"Because Izzod is so angry" He whispered._

_"So then we can protect our memories, we can lock them in your mind palace." John's voice was tight with emotion. "When we can be together again, you can have my key and open it back up." He put his hand on Sherlock's. There had been tears then from both of them._

                                "I... The memories are so hard to find..." Sherlock whispered but he closed his eyes. John slid his hand into Sherlock's as he slipped into his mind palace. _He saw himself, seven years old walking with a ten year old John towards the locked door. They clasped hands and raised the keys, slipping them in the locks in the door._

                                "DADDY!" Hamish yelled from the door, Mycroft following him as he opened it.

                                "I'm sorry, he was determined to find..." He paused and looked down. "You're the nephew..." He whispered.

                                "The evil prince." John giggled. "Let's go down to dinner and then Hamish, how about I tell you a story about a Pirate Prince and his first mate Captain John?" Hamish clapped excitedly and let John scoop him as the group went down to dinner.

                                "Yea! Pirates!" Hamish giggled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of the Pirate Prince and his first mate Captain John will be beautiful, fluffy, and amazing! Check back soon! 
> 
> As always please leave kudos and comments!


	3. The Pirate Prince

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John tells Hamish the story of a Pirate Prince turned detective and the doctor Captain John.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was half done in my head before I even posted the last one! Things will be taking a turn for the darker as the boys delve into the case in the next chapter, but for now enjoy some absolutely adorable Kid!Lock and Parent!Lock.
> 
> I'm hoping to have the next chapter up sometime early next week (a slight delay is necessary because of school/work)!

                The group finished dinner and idly walked the distance to the guest house with ease. They chattered away, mostly about the grounds as they went. Greg asking questions and John and Mycroft answering them easily. When they arrived a fire was already built in the heart and one of the butlers had set out a tea service in the living room. Greg and John sat on the floor, Greg was in front of the couch and Mycroft sat half reclined, half sitting up behind him. Sherlock sat down in an arm chair where he could watch John as he spoke. Hamish snuggled into John's lap and John carded his hand through his hair, pushing it back out of his eyes. Greg new a lesser man would have flinched and looked away from Sherlock if he had borne that level of attention down on them, but John was used to it by now and seemed almost comfortable in the weight of it, even though Sherlock looked like he wanted to crawl inside John and learn something from the inside out. He was intrigued by the dynamic between them in this moment, Sherlock seemed so much younger like a little boy being instructed. It was almost adorable. He was curious as to the reason for it though but a quick look from Sherlock was clear - _You're thinking too loud_.

                                "Stowy time?" Hamish asked excitedly and John smiled. He pulled the key out of his shirt pocket and handed it to Hamish. Hamish instantly turned it over and over, trying to learn every detail he could about the key.

                                "I want you to keep that, okay? Keep it safe?" John asked as he slipped it over Hamish's neck. "It's important to your Dads." He grinned.

                                "Oh! Yes!" Hamish exclaimed exceptionally excited. His giggle didn't stop for a few minutes.

                                "Alright, let's see," John settled back and he felt Sherlock settle in, watching as he slowly closed his eyes. He could almost see Sherlock's mind palace, picture him walking through the door they had unlocked just a few hours ago and start at a blank slate so the memory could play out as it came back. He knew he wanted to see the memories as John spoke to literally feel the pieces slip back into place. He smiled and let his fingers slowly glide through Hamish's hair. "There once was a lonely little boy named John," He began and Hamish's eyes went wide. "He wasn't like other boys so he didn't have many friends, but he was still happy most of the time because he believed that one day he would meet someone that would see him for who he really was. Lonely John was different than other boys his age, most of them were beginning to think that girls were nice, wanting to play sports, and do all the 'normal' things that boys do. But not John, you see he thought that boys were much nicer than girls and he didn't really like girls that much. Honestly he didn't really like them at all. But John's father was an angry man named General Now and he hated how lonely John behaved. He would always yell at him and tell him that he needed to act like a boy. He was especially mean to John's sister because she was a girl who loved girls. So he had no nice things to say to lonely John so long as John continued to think boys were better. The only respite lonely John got from his father was during the summer. Each summer John was lucky enough to go stay at his favorite uncle's house. His uncle the kindly King James would let him spend the whole summer there and would never once tell John he was bad or wrong for how he felt. In fact King James was very happy to let John be himself and that's why John spent every summer he could with his uncle. Lonely John spent ten summers at Pendergrass Estate, but that last summer was the most important one . It was the most important because that's when lonely John met the boy he would grow up and marry." John blushed a bit, as did Sherlock. He slowly opened his eyes to look at his husband and his look was clear - _sentimental_.

                                "Is it twue?!" Hamish demanded, his eyes wide. "Is that when you met Daddy?" He turned to look at Sherlock, narrowing his eyes.

                                "Yes, it is." Sherlock whispered softly and Hamish giggled. Greg looked mildly interested at this point, slipping out of the sort of stupor he'd been in.

                                "Wait..." Greg started but Hamish made an angry noise and he just held up his hands in surrender.

                                "That summer King James told lonely John he was inviting another of his friends and his two little boys to stay. King James said that the eldest boy was likely not going to be very interesting to lonely John because he was preparing to be a business man like his father and was already involved in political and business things, but James felt that the younger boy might be a good friend for John. So John was very excited when arrived at the estate and found out the other boys were already there. King James arranged for them to be introduced and when John offered an introduction he was disappointed." Sherlock's eyes had fluttered closed again and his face was tight with emotion. "The other boy looked him over and pronounced him normal and boring before running off." John sighed and Sherlock casually stretched out so his socked foot brushed against John's ankle. "Now lonely John was lonelier than ever." John's voice dropped.

                                "Daddy! That's mean!" Hamish scolded. "Daddy is vewy... not normal!" He balled up his tiny fists and the four men burst into laughter. It took five minutes before they all stopped laughing, John and Greg laughing the longest. "It's not funny." He pouted.

                                "Hamish, it's alright. I promise the story has a happy ending." John whispered and Hamish settled back into his lap. He grabbed John's sleeve.

                                "You awen't lonely anymore, wight?" He asked softly, his eyes wide.

                                "No love, I have you and your Dad, and your uncles. I'm not lonely anymore." He whispered and leaned down, kissing the boys forehead.

                                "Good." He replied in a very matter of fact voice.

                                "So lonely John decided that if the other boy didn't like him it would be okay, he would just do what he always did when he came to the estate. So he took his toy soldiers and went to the gazebo, his favorite place in King James' kingdom and set up the soldier to prepare for a battle against the evil invaders trying to take over King James' land. See lonely John had desperately desired to become a military man since he was very little and one year for Christmas King James bought him a neat little military coat with matching trousers and a set of matching toy soldiers. So John felt it was his duty to make sure the soldiers protected King James' land. He prepared his troops and stood behind them, ready to fight if necessary and gave the order for his men to march to the left. Just then a voice called out from the bushes and said 'Don't go left, left is stupid and boring!' It made John jump right out of his skin as he hadn't thought anyone had been watching. So he knelt back down by his soldiers and looked around, just in time to see the other little boy push his way out of the hedges and come marching over to him. Lonely John was red with shame, sad that the other boy thought his command was the wrong one. The other boy knelt down, hugging his knees to his chest and looked over the soldiers. 'You can't go left,' he said, 'That's boring and predictable. It's what they expect and you can't do what they expect. Never ever do what they expect you do to.' The boy was looking over the troops more closely and then he stood, putting his hands on his hips and looking John over. The stare he gave was powerful and John would never meet anyone who could give one like it, somehow John knew in that moment that the other boy knew everything about him while John still knew nothing about him. So John just looked at him and looked at what he was. The other boy had dark hair, but John could only see a tiny tuft of it from under the orange and green scarf wrapped around his head. He had an eye patch over his left eye and a stuffed parrot tied to his shoulder. Another piece of the scarf, which John later found out was a bed sheet the boy had destroyed to make his costume, was looped through the belt loops of his cut off brown trousers. He had no shoes on and a toy sword strapped to his side." Hamish's eyes were huge now.

                                "A piwate!" He exclaimed, sitting up some in his excitement.

                                "Yes, but not just a normal pirate." John said softly, adding emphasis to the moment. "He offered his hand and pulled lonely John up to standing and he said 'don't look so sad, you were doing brilliant commanding your troops before issuing that last command.' He'd seemed to decide something and he nodded curtly before continuing on, 'I am Pirate Prince Erik the One-Eyed,' he announced grandly," John was cut off as Mycroft literally snorted with laughter and almost spat tea on Greg. Greg and John dissolved into a fit of giggles and Sherlock opened his eyes, tensed his jaw, and blushed just slightly. It took a good ten minutes for Greg and John to finally stop laughing, because it was just so strange to hear Mycroft laugh like that.

                                "Ever one for the dramatic." Mycroft said but his tone was teasing, flushing himself at the indignity of the moment. Sherlock snapped his head around to look at his brother but was saved from responding by Hamish.

                                "Uncle Mycwoft!" He scolded, looking seriously affronted.  Putting his little hands on his hips. "Let Daddy talk!" Mycroft laughed and motioned for John to continue. John waited until Sherlock nodded and then continued.

                                "The little boy looked lonely John over and asked him what his name was. This made lonely John sad again because he didn't have a fancy name and he certainly wasn't a prince. So he just looked down and replied that his name was John, just John." John inhaled to continue but Sherlock's voice cut him off.

                                "Not 'just' John," Sherlock sat up straighter as his eyes locked with John's and the words just effortlessly flowed from his mouth. "Never just John," His tone was soft and full of emotion but his eyes sparkled with their normal enthusiasm for something he considered to be entertaining. " _Just_ John wouldn't command his troops so efficiently. Just John wouldn't stand so firm and straight ready to charge into battle, and _just_ John wouldn't be so _very_ interesting. You're an officer, Captain John, and I want you to be _my_ first mate." John's mouth opened slightly in shock, surprised to hear how deep the emotion was behind those words. It was like Sherlock spoke them from memory and yet anew in this moment, drawing John's eyes up to his own. Their eyes burned into each other's and John's hand stilled in Hamish's hair, but the little Prince didn't speak up because he was watching his fathers, transfixed by the love passing between them.  Greg found himself feeling as he had on so many other occasions like an intruder on some very private moment. He was never really prepared for the moments like this when Sherlock truly opened himself up to the things he felt and let them show so easily on his face. He only ever did so when John was present and almost always because of something that happened between the two of them. John went to say something but Mycroft cleared his throat and called their attention back to the room, gently reminding them they weren't alone. Hamish was giggling as he focused on his fathers. His look clearly one of deduction.

                                "Sentimental," Hamish pronounced and looked up at Sherlock who blushed slightly. It was clearly aimed at the detective and even Mycroft gave a small smile. John had to fight not to giggle but Greg couldn't stop himself, after a few minutes John followed Greg into another fit of giggles. A few minutes later Sherlock settled back in his place and John continued.

                                "You see Hamish, Prince Erik wanted to make the fastest ship in the world. He wanted to be a pirate who invented things, he wanted to find interesting places and explore them, and he wanted to do all of that with all of the freedom a Pirate Prince deserved so he needed a first mate who could take care of his pirates. Someone that he felt he could trust with his life and the lives of his men and almost as soon as he saw Captain John commanding his troops he decided that he was the man for the job. Now normally Prince Erik would be called Captain, and John mentioned that to him but he didn't care. He was already Prince, so Erik said Captain John would be just fine and once he said it - it was law. The soldiers were forgotten that afternoon as Prince Erik told Captain John all about his family: about the evil King Izzod who was his father and was always angry and his evil brother Prince Croft." Mycroft huffed a sigh, Greg giggled, and Sherlock smirked. "Captain John told Prince Erik all about the evil General Now and how his family was tied to King James. They talked for hours and hours and were late to tea, where Lady Georgina told them she would pack them some food for dinner so they could roam the estate. Prince Erik told Captain John that John was actually the only reason the Prince had come to Pendergrass and it made little John far happier than it should have. They became great friends and had many adventures in the Kings' lands but the most important adventure of all was the case involving the Beast of Pendergrass." A low chuckle broke free as Greg started laughing again and this time John blushed, caught red handed with his penchant for romantic names. If only Greg knew about the leather bound journal in John's bag. "It was bas business, little Prince. That summer the kindly King James was murdered and it tore the friendship between the General, King Izzod, and the Pendergrass family apart. The General accused King Izzod of the murder and because of that the Prince and the Captain were not allowed to see each other anymore." John whispered softly, pain in his voice. "Izzod took his sons and left Pendergrass estate a month before the end of summer and John did not see him again for a long time. But three years later Captain John got a package. Lady Georgina brought it to him at his home and the shipping packaging had been removed. She said it had been sent to Pendergrass estate to ensure it made it to Captain John and was for him alone. When Captain John finally opened it late that night he found Prince Erik's pirate gear and a letter inside. A letter telling him..."

                                "Captain John, I demand you keep these safe. You are as always the only one whom I can trust with such essential items. One day you and I will become pirates and we will sail the world together as we were meant to. For now I have decided I will become a detective as you once suggested I do. They did not listen to us but If I can prove that King Izzod did not murder King James then we shall be allowed to be friends again. I don't know if this will truly make it to you, but Prince Croft assures me Lady Georgina is trustworthy. I am loathe to confess this but I miss you terribly. I have tried to learn more about you, but I have failed despite my best efforts. I know I _will_ find you again once this case is closed. Know that my sentiment for you has not changed since that summer that feels so long ago. You are ever my brother in arms, ever my friend, my first mate. I hope you are well and continue to be so. Ever yours, Prince Erik." Sherlock whispered, Hamish was growing sleepy but fighting to stay awake his attention focused on John's face as it betrayed the emotion he was feeling. He looked confused by the tears that were on his fathers' cheeks.

                                "So Captain John," John's voice cracked but he took a slow deep breath and recovered, "Wrote back to Prince Erik," Sherlock's brow furrowed and he looked at John with an intense stare. He'd never received a reply and that was why he...  John was suddenly talking again. "Prince Erik, I understand your feelings and shall guard these as if they were my own flesh. As I swore to do with anything you entrusted me with. I do hope you still have _the key_ and beg you to keep it safe so I will know you when I find you again. I have decided that I shall become a doctor as well as a soldier - that way if we ever again encounter the Beast I can save the victim. That I shall possess the knowledge that would have saved us this distance in the beginning. So that we shall never again be separated. I understand how terribly difficult it must have been for you to confess such sentiment when you told me before loyalty was all you needed, but you should know I still feel the same as I did. Those words whispered in the rain in the forest have not changed. I look forward to the day we meet again, always yours John." John's eyes were glassed over and Sherlock was utterly a wreck, betraying far too much emotion all at once. It was actually slightly disturbing to Greg and Mycroft how much he was unrestrained in this moment.  "But John never heard back from Prince Erik, he couldn't even be sure the letter made it to him after all he didn't trust Prince Croft as much as Erik did. But something even better happened, though John didn't know it at the time. One day, six years ago Captain John took a chance and followed an old friend into a lab where he met the now grown up detective Sherlock Holmes." Hamish let out a happy sigh from where he was snuggled deep under a blanket in John's lap.

                                "That's... A good... Stowy Daddy." He muttered softly, fighting sleep.

                                "My little Prince Hamish, your Daddy and I went on many adventures that summer and if you continue to be just as wonderful as you have been I promise we will tell you all about them." Sherlock said softly as he swept his hands through Hamish's hair. The little boy was almost completely asleep, his hand clutched around the key.

                                "I love you Daddy." Hamish whispered softly and Sherlock pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, briefly meeting John's eyes before he stood.

                                "Come on sleepy head, let's get you settled." John grinned and stood up slowly, aided by Sherlock as he did and nodded that he was taking Hamish to bed. "I'll be right back." He mouthed. Sherlock sighed and leaned back as John left the room.

                                "The letter?" Sherlock demanded, turning to look at Mycroft with an almost angry expression. Mycroft barely registered a shift in his expression, merely tightening his mouth with displeasure.

                                "Mummy got it, which was lucky for you because we both know father would have destroyed it. She never could figure out when to give it to you though, because she knew you had decided that whole event meant caring was a..." Sherlock grunted.

                                "So she also knew." Sherlock whispered.

                                "Yes, so she passed it on to me. I was going to give it to you before your wedding but I was unaware at the time that John..." Mycroft sat up, preparing to launch into an explanation.

                                "Liar." John said teasingly from the doorway.

                                "I beg your..."

                                "He's actually right, you're lying." Sherlock said and quirked an eyebrow.

                                "It didn't seem right to bring that up when it was clear that neither you nor John remembered that summer. You suffered so much because of father's actions at the time that I felt inclined to keep the grief away from your thinking. It wasn't difficult, though John did go to great lengths to try to cover up his family history - no doubt owing to the fact his father was outspoken again the gay community, to find out who John actually was. He was legally divorced from his parents at the age of seventeen with Harry's help. He then joined the military and immediately set about creating his own livelihood without help from his father or the trust fund setup for him by his uncle James Pendergrass. I had to know more about the man you were going to be sharing confidential information and a flat with." He sighed as the two of them tensed. "I learned it after your first case, the amount of loyalty John had for you so quickly was quite alarming to me and as your older brother it is my job to look out for you. So I did find the links and I came to understand that he was the little boy who was at Pendergrass Estate the summer James was killed." Mycroft tensed, crossing his arms.

                                "So you've known all this time and never..." John began but Greg cut him off.

                                "So this is a true story then?" Greg asked incredulously. "This is really some sort of insight into the young Sherlock Holmes?" He laughed waiting for one of them to say it was a grand joke.

                                "Yes it is. James Pendergrass was my uncle on my mother's side. I didn't know Sherlock was Erik because I blocked the whole summer from my mind, especially after Afghanistan. So I didn't remember his face and since he lied about his name..." John shrugged.

                                "I locked it away in my mind palace, it was a horrid ordeal for a child to go through." Sherlock stood and started pacing, a clear sign several emotions were boiling through him as he tried to focus on the data. "Mycroft had warned me against building relationships and that summer just provided me the proof I needed that caring was a..."

                                "Disadvantage," John said softly and their eyes met again. Greg felt the air sucked out of the room and looked to Mycroft who stood.

                                "How wrong I was," Sherlock whispered, stopping in his paces just before John. Their eyes locked and thousands of unspoken things passing between them.

                                "I will leave the letter in your room Sherlock. I ensured that I brought it with me when I found that we would be coming here and it became absolutely inevitable the two of you would be reminded of the connection. I shall also leave the documents that were redacted from the original record of James Pendergrass' murder, which includes your eye witness testimony. Good evening." Mycroft nodded and took Greg's hand, leading him from the room. Greg was just quiet and sort of in shock, so he murmured goodnight as they left.

                                "I never thought..." John started, trying to explain why he'd never said anything. "Even... It was..." His voice was caught in his throat and he was desperate to apologize for not knowing that Sherlock was Erik.

                                "That bond we had was strong then, I remember now how much it hurt when father told me I couldn't speak to you again." Sherlock's voice was soft, different than it had been when Mycroft and Greg were in the room. "I don't blame you. We both blocked it from our minds, a typical child's way of dealing with pain too strong to bear." He pulled John to him and crushed their bodies together. "I remember it all now, though it is still falling into chronological order."

                                "I... I have our adventures... The journal. My journal." John forced out, his head swimming with emotion. "I keep it in my footlocker at home. I brought it because I knew it contained everything we saw and observed that summer. For once in our cases we are part of the source of best information." He went red.

                                "It should have been obvious to me that you were my Captain. Always writing down our adventures for _posterity_." Sherlock teased. "You have yet again proven to me that I was wrong to block myself from caring. There in that summer you brought a sorrow filled little boy to life. That sadness that was on your face when I pronounced you normal and ordinary was so different than anything I had ever seen in children my age. You _wanted_ to be my friend and you knew nothing about me, but you wanted me around. That's why I followed you and hid in those bushes. I didn't want you to know how much I wanted that, how much I needed that. I was always a _freak_ , that weird little boy who knew too much about everything but wanted nothing to do with it. Then there you were, pronouncing me as brilliant and wanting so much to know me inside and out. Even without our memories you did the same thing again when we met six years ago. You were so eager to be my friend, to be beside me. You _wanted_ me even when the whole world conspired against you to tell you not to. You are and have always been the only one I can truly trust." He pressed their mouths together for a soft but passionate kiss before leaning his forehead against John's.

                                "You gave me a purpose when I had none." John whispered in reply, his voice cracking slightly. "Twice you have done the same thing. It's an unfair irony, but I would suffer it all again to be here with you now." He blushed knowing it was a sugary sweet sentiment even for himself.

                                "I never got your letter or I would have replied." Sherlock's voice was soft, an apology without so many words.

                                "I guessed as much..." John smiled.

                                "You loved me, even then didn't you?" A smirk found its' way into his tone.

                                "Oh don't be an idiot, I told you as much." John looked pained and Sherlock ran his hands gently over his back to calm him. "That's why dad was so angry about our friendship. That's why I stopped thinking about boys that way. It's stupid to think I was a ten year old boy and knew that I would never feel that way about another human being in my life, no matter how hard I tried."

                                "So at ten years old you bottled up your truth and became the man your father wanted to see. You trained yourself to like women. Then when faced with a man who stirred your desire you vehemently pronounced yourself to be 'not gay' and went on as many dates as possible." His hand slid up over his shoulder and onto his cheek, cradling his face.

                                "I did. I learned how to play the dating game and I was so good at it I earned that horrible nickname. I found a way to cope just like you. Only you stopped making friends or lovers." John whispered.

                                "I never started having lovers, you were my first friend and so easily taken from me. How could I chance giving my heart to someone... Well if I'm being completely honest to someone else, but I was seven. I didn't know anything about love." He sighed, his shoulders tense from the battle that still waging in his mind between emotion and rationality. "We saw what happened, we told them what we saw, and they still took you from me. Still they didn't believe us. I was powerless and you know how much I _hate_ being powerless. No one will ever take you from me again." His voice and eyes darkened slightly as he spoke and John actually moaned softly. He knew that rationally he should be concerned about that possessiveness, but as always it inspired an altogether different feeling in his body. Suddenly the room was full of heat and desire and was threatening to drown the two of them in the sea of it all.

                                "You are the most utterly confusing and arousing person I have ever known." John laughed quietly but was stopped from his thoughts when Sherlock kissed him. Suddenly John was back against the wall and the two of them were all mouths and heat. The frantic passion lasted for a long time before Sherlock finally broke away from the bruising kisses to catch his breath, his face still close to John's.

                                "I mean it John, you're mine. You and Hamish are my life and if anyone _ever_ tries to take that from me _I_ _will hurt them_." It was a promise and it made John shiver.

                                "I know love, I remember what you did to the man who had the nerve to aim a gun at my head and then go truss up Mrs. Hudson." John nuzzled his nose against Sherlock's cheek, enjoying the feel of that porcelain skin. "Do you remember that first night we camped out by the lake?"

                                "Yes," Sherlock whispered softly, letting his eyes close. "It was so dark and there were so many stars. You knew all of those constellations by heart and chided me for being a sailor who didn't." They laughed quietly. "Oh..." Sherlock giggled. "Astronomy, it'll be the death of me with you won't it."

                _It had been a crisp and cool night, only a few days after they had become friends. They weren't supposed to be out there, no they were supposed to be in bed. But adventures didn't happen to those who did what they were expected to do. The two of them were laying on the duvet from John's bed, which he had thrown out the window to Sherlock before climbing down the trellis. They were laying close together, their heads right next to each other, arms touching as their young bodies shared warmth against the dropping temperatures. Their outfits ever the Pirate Prince and the Solider but John's jacket wrapped around Sherlock's thin frame. John's arm was up and he was pointing out this constellation and that one, talking about the directions they led to and how they could be used to guide the way home. He was talking about all sorts of astronomy related things - the planets, the stars, how where you were changed what you saw, how they could be used for navigation, myths about the various constellations, and which ones were his favorites. On and on and on for hours until he was horse and Sherlock was flushed with the simple pleasure of it all. His John whispering his knowledge to him, just because he wanted to hear it. He turned to look at John and their eyes met, childish joy spilling forth from both of them until they dissolved into a fit of giggles. Then the two of them simply sinking back on the duvey and staring up at the stars in silence before they fell into sleep and cuddled together clasping hands without concern about whether or not it was proper. That's where Mycroft had found them the next morning, furrowing his brow and crossing his arms before telling them off for worrying the whole house._

                                "Yes, but that was the first time in my life I felt truly happy. Just being there with you, looking at a dark sky full of little lights." His voice pulled Sherlock's gaze back to his eyes as he whispered his words. "It was the moment I realized that John was okay, that I was allowed to be me. That's why it hurt so bloody much to have that ripped away from me. Because suddenly John was all wrong again."

                                "I am glad to know Mycroft knew our history, especially since he was responsible for bringing us together at Baker Street in the first place. Otherwise my complete lack of belief in fate would be foundering right now." Sherlock's smirk was wide.

                                "I'm not about to start believing that Mycroft is some sort of all knowing power." He giggled and his hand slipped up into Sherlock's hair. "And yet if you think about it here we are about to go back and solve a case. Our very first case. There's still a sort of magic about it, even if Mycroft bloody Holmes was the one that reunited us." John grinned.

                                "I suppose I can concede that point." Sherlock's voice was soft as he met John halfway.

                They came together again kissing each other as Sherlock pushed John's hands into the wall above his head. There were tears, but smiles played at the corners of their lips as the two of them dissolved into a mess of desire and moans. Sherlock decided that the moment was becoming too dangerous to be continued in their current position and still provide them privacy, so he pulled John down onto the couch. It wasn't entirely the right decision as Sherlock found himself kissing John more intensely as they went but he eventually broke the kiss heaving for air. Sherlock almost groaned, John had his thinking face on. Sherlock didn't want to think, he just wanted to strip him down and claim him.

                                "I have another question," He said softly, panting and almost giggling when Sherlock clicked his tongue. "Why did you come back?" Sherlock felt the breath in his chest sucked out. Why _that_ question now? The question that had never been asked.

                                "You're talking about our separation. When I went away," He whispered softly flushing with shame. "It was wrong of me to leave in the first place." He said it dismissively, not wanting to go into it but John was determined to know.

                                "You were hurt, I was putting Harry before you..." John offered but his voice was careful and guarded. Sherlock sighed and prepared himself to confess the one sin he would never be able to make up for.

                                "That's not a good enough reason, John. In fact as far as reasons to walk away from a man like John Watson-Holmes go it's the most childish and stupid." Sherlock smirked as John blushed. "I know I will never be able to make that mistake up to you. That I just walked away from you like that. You needed me, maybe more than you'd ever needed me in our relationship to that point. I took so much from you over and over again throughout the years of our relationship. Demanding that you drop everything to help me no matter what it was for, expecting you to accept my actions at face value even when they almost ripped your heart from your body, and encouraging you to feel but then chastising you for doing just that. The biggest problem of your life fell into your lap and I acted like a selfish child instead of a supportive husband. He broke his gaze away for a moment, fighting with the growing shame in his chest. John's soft murmur of comfort drew Sherlock's gaze back to his and he met his eyes again. "It was so hard for me to be there, to watch how you were falling apart. You were pushing yourself so hard." His voice cracked slightly and John felt himself flush more. If he ever stopped feeling that flutter in his chest when Sherlock confessed how important he was, it would kill him. "Not eating or sleeping, barely making time to bathe and take care of yourself. I was losing you to your own stubbornness, to the very thing I loved about you. Your ability to care." He slowly took John's hand. "I couldn't handle it, I didn't know what to do or say. We were fighting at every turn because you were trying to push me away, desperate for me to fight back and prove that I would stay there no matter what. You didn't want me to suffer anymore but you didn't know how to ask for the help you needed. So injured as I was by my pride, I took what I thought was your intended meaning and I left. I went to Mycroft's, which was stupid because that was where we'd spent those three months before you so selflessly allowed yourself to be captured and tortured for me. I fought against myself. I found myself outside the damn flat over and over again wanting to come in and sweep you in my arms. Watching you as you stood in my window and played your violin because you had no idea what else to do. I begged Greg to tell me I should do and he had nothing for me. He told me you wouldn't talk about it but that Harry eventually told him that she couldn't be sure you weren't beginning to turn to drinking yourself. She told him you were worse than before I left, always exhausted looking, never sleeping, and that it had been almost a week since she'd seen you eat. I knew if Harry, knee deep in her recovery, could see how bad you were there was only one person who could fix it. The problem was that I was still too full of pride to come home so Greg appealed to Mycroft. Mycroft brought me this," He held up the key which he had slipped around his neck. "He told me that I was killing both of us because I wasn't being a proper man. I wasn't caring for you as I had given my word to do. I was breaking my promise." John shook with emotion and Sherlock pulled him closed. "So I had no choice, I knew I had to fix things."

                                "I'm sorry..." John whispered, tears falling as he did.

                                "You never have to apologize to me, John. I let you down. I always do and yet you always take me back. You accept me for the flawed human being I am and it makes you happy to do so. You even wanted to start a family with me, of all people. I was the one at fault, that's why I asked you to come to Mycroft's for that weekend. Because I needed you back. I need you, I always have and I always will."

                Their mouths met again, but it was so different this time. Soft, passionate kisses that threatened to pry every ounce of emotion from their bodies as they sank further and further into the moment. Sherlock cradled John's face and John's hand wrapped in Sherlock's hair as they pressed against each other. They came together frantically almost desperately as they tried to show everything with their actions. Sherlock stood and taking John's hand led him up the stairs to their room, absolutely determined to remind John of every reason he chose to become his husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always kudos, comments, and messages are very acceptable! I'm considering that the third part of this series will actually be the Adventures of Pirate Prince Erik and his first mate Captain John, but we'll see where we go with this story first!
> 
> Isn't Hamish adorable?!


	4. On The Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock has too much energy so the two set off to see if there are any clues left at Pendergrass Estate, what they find provides them more information than they expected and sends Sherlock a little off the deep end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts off nice and fluffy and ends up with a bit of smut. I appreciate you all putting up with a relatively fluffy story marked explicit, the next chapter will likely be the last one to start of fluffy as it only gets darker for awhile from here!
> 
> I have taken a few artistic liberties with the use of the German language and yes I know I straight translated much of it. My German skills are a bit rusty!

                John grunted as he woke and realized he was alone in the large bed. It was comfortable and warm but the lack of Sherlock or a warm spot where Sherlock had recently been next to him made him pull himself from the soft blankets and out into the weak sunlight. It was half nine and he was surprised by the stillness the house had as he slowly let all of his senses take in the morning. Sherlock must be outside and judging by the stillness around him Hamish was with him. He could never explain it to anyone who asked him but he always knew whether or not Sherlock or Hamish were in a particular location just by the feel of it. There was a particular energy that his husband and son gave whatever building they were occupying. He sighed softly and walked over to the suitcase rummaging around until he found his favorite shirt, a jumper, clean pants, and trousers. He then grabbed his toiletries bag and headed for the bathroom to begin his morning routine. Just as he finished up in the shower and stepped out he heard the soft thump-thump of shoes hitting the carpet just beyond the bed in the bedroom proper and felt the energy of both of his loves as they snuggled into the bed together. He could hear the excited whispers of the two drifting into the bathroom as they pretended to snuggle in like they'd been there all along. John didn't hurry, instead he moved a bit more slowly before stepping out of the bathroom and looking at Hamish and Sherlock where they were both covered up to their necks by the blankets. He could tell just by looking that Hamish was hiding something under the blankets with him and smirked. Both of them were fully dressed and looked wild as if they had just run a race.

                                "Where have you two been?"  John crossed his arms.

                                "No Daddy, that's not how we play this game," Sherlock chided him, Hamish giggling beside him as he did. John shook his head but narrowed his eyes slightly, the way he did when he was observing and deducting. Sherlock's breath hitched in anticipation, the thrill clear on his face.

\- Sherlock's shoes were dusty, a red color covering them - _walking in the mulched areas on the road to the gazebo_.

\- The instep of Sherlock's right shoe had a small clump of dark black soil clinging to it but the minute amount there meant most of the rest had been washed off -  _they went in the lake likely Sherlock after Hamish._

\- A scent of lemon wafted off of Hamish as he giggled - _he's tried some of Georgina's prize winning sweet lemon mint._

\- There was a smudge on his cheek of green - _he didn't like it._

\- Hamish's hair was wet and there was a faint rose scent in the room - _they went in the other greenhouse and Sherlock got distracted by that blue rose again._

\- Hamish's elbow had a scrape the exact height of the first knob on the bamboo near the hedge maze - _they'd gotten lost on the way back and Sherlock had taken a detour_.

\- There was a bit of broken leaf stuck in Sherlock's hair just behind his ear - _he's gone to the scene of the crime_.

                John smirked and quirked an eyebrow as Sherlock's smile made it to his eyes.

                                "And if I win?" John demanded.

                                "We'll make breakfast." Sherlock offered as he reached up to scratch his nose. There was a brief flash of pink and John had to fight not to laugh.

                                "Only if you actually cook this time, no experiments." He countered.

                                "Agreed," Sherlock flashed him a grin, it was a dare. Sherlock didn't think he could see the whole morning. John's smirk made the heat flare in Sherlock's stomach, he was on the edge waiting for John to make his move.

                                "You woke at half four," John began, using Sherlock's own deduction tone just to irritate him. He paced slightly, as Sherlock would, but was rewarded as Sherlock's eyes shifted to follow him at every turn. "Judging by your expression; you aren't quite fully awake which means you haven't had either coffee or tea. Which means Hamish woke exactly twenty minutes after you. Exactly the amount of time it takes for you to finish getting dressed. You decided to let me have a bit of a lie in so you went and got Hamish, taking him out with you. First you went to the main house where you snuck in and retrieved your pirate gear - the scarf of which is currently hidden in the bed between you two as you've given it to Hamish." John could tell he was right so far because of how wide Sherlock's eyes were and how Hamish was fighting giggles.  They did this at least twice a week. The two of them being such horrible sleepers. Sherlock would whisk Hamish off on some small adventure and expect John to be able to deduce the entire thing. John didn't mind because the training had paid off with him finally solving a case _before_ Sherlock. "You then preceded to the gazebo to show Hamish where we met and the 'Grave of the Lost Soldier' which is now under about two feet of extra hedge according to the dust on your shoes. It was still dark and you realized Hamish would enjoy watching the sunrise over the 'Lake of Air' so you took him around passing through the kitchen gardens on the way there. You gave him a piece of Georgie's lemon mint to try and he disliked it - but he didn't want you to know that so he waited until you weren't looking and spit it out but he got a bit of it is on his face. You couldn't resist going to see if she was still growing that blue rose you used to love so you nipped into the other greenhouses where you got caught up talking to Henry the gardener and Hamish dunked his head in Georgina's little fountain that she adds rose water to. His hair is still wet and I can smell the roses." He smirked as Hamish giggled, Sherlock's face however was pure heat as he met John's eyes. John almost grunted but he broke their locked gazes and focused. Sherlock had arranged this whole charade anyway - why not torture him with it? "You finally made it to the Lake but Hamish charged straight into the water and you only just caught him at the edge. You put your right foot into the lake and came away with a wet leg and a disgruntled son knowing that it was about time that I would wake you opted to start heading back towards the guest house - but you took the same wrong turn you made every day during our summer here and ended up near the hedge maze, which you absolutely abhor. So once you managed to realize you were inside you pushed your way through the wall, just like you used to - and ended up in the bamboo garden where Hamish scraped his elbow. Then Sherlock Holmes, you took our soon to the scene of the crime and did investigations without me." He narrowed his eyes and Sherlock hummed with approval.

                                "Very, very good John." He purred but John held up three fingers.

                                "Oh but there's more." John smirked as he slowly dropped each finger and when his final finger dropped -

                                "SHERLOCK HOLMES!!!!" Rang out throughout the house.

                They heard the rush of footsteps that could only mean a very angry Mycroft was on his way to their room. He could hear Greg shouting after him, but it sounded like Greg's voice was strained. The door flew open and Mycroft entered the room anger apparent in every line of his body. Hamish and Sherlock both burst into giggles even though Mycroft looked like he was going to kill them. John turned to Mycroft looking alarmed and was surprised to see that Mycroft had what looked like pink icing in his hair and on his shoes. John bit his lip to keep from laughing and looked to Sherlock and Hamish who were now wiping tears from their eyes while giggling. John and Greg were both doing everything in their power not to laugh which meant looking everywhere but at each other because if they looked at each other they would lose it. Greg grabbed Mycroft's arm just in time to stop him from launching at Sherlock in the bed.

                                "What would **_possibly_** possess you to do this?!" He demanded in an angry rage. Greg had raised his hand to his mouth, still trying desperately not to laugh and continued avoiding meeting John's gaze at all costs. John compromised by looking somewhere between amused and exasperated as Hamish pouted and looked ashamed.

                                "Busted?" He asked Sherlock in what he clearly thought was his best let-me-off-the-hook voice.

                                "Busted," Sherlock conceded, sighing.

                                "You are an absolute imbecile!" Mycroft shouted and John raised a hand. Mycroft was shaking with rage and John sighed. They were like children the three of them.

                                "Sherlock you and Hamish go down and make breakfast, now." John said in a warning tone and Sherlock frowned before pushing Hamish gently out of the bed and the two of them heading downstairs.

                                "Well we thought it was funny." He retorted as they passed the other three men.

                John and Greg made Mycroft sit down and carefully started trying to remove the icing from his suit, ears, hair, and arms. They refused to make eye contact as they worked simply offering Mycroft words of reassurance as he muttered angrily under his breath about the immaturity of his brother. Eventually he'd had enough of their coddling and he stormed off to take a shower and put on a fresh suit, leaving the two of them to dissolve into a horrible fit giggles until they were almost sobbing with tears.

                                "How did Sherlock bloody Holmes sneak into our room with a one year old and put icing in his shoes and replace his hair gel with an icing container without us waking up?" Greg asked between giggles.

                                "What. An. Idiot." John forced out, emphasizing each word.

                                "It'll be war now, John." Greg replied as they sank down in the chairs at the little table in the bedroom. "I'll do my best to ensure you don't become a casualty." He laughed again.

                                "I appreciate that, I'll see to it they don't plan anything too underhanded." He sighed and a few minutes later silence settled around them.  Greg sighed and ran a hand over his face.

                                "We're nutters, the both of us." He conceded, looking over at John.

                                "We must be the two biggest nutters in the world to fall for the Holmes men." John smirked. "I'd better go down to the kitchen and check on my two." He stood and motioned for Greg to check on Mycroft.

                                "I'll come as back up. I think Mycroft needs a few more minutes to cool that temper before I try to check on him." Greg laughed.

                The sheer amount of _noise_ coming from the kitchen as they arrived downstairs was enough to make both of them stop with concern. Greg gave John an apologetic look before the two of them slowly opened the door to the chaos before them in the kitchen. There was flour _everywhere_ including in Sherlock's hair. Hamish was sitting in the middle of the island counter banging on a pot with a wooden spoon Sherlock's pirate scarf wrapped around the little boys head and covered in flour. Sherlock was signing some sort of 'pirate' song while he worked and Hamish was keeping time by banging as loudly as possible on the pot with the spoon. Greg and John were both giggling softly from their vantage point and John was relieved to see that there was actually a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and pancakes waiting to be taken to the table. John sighed and Hamish looked up at the same time Sherlock seemed to realize they were there, both of them looking absolutely sheepish as John caught them. John didn't know whether to run away, laugh, or be concerned his husband had lost his mind.

                                "If this is what they're like when he _has_ a case I don't want to know what it's like when he hasn't." Greg offered.

                                "Cheers." John laughed.

                                "I don't envy you, mate. Two of them... I'd better go and check on My." Greg turned and headed back up the stairs.

                                "Sherlock Holmes, _what_ are you doing?" John crossed his arms again stepping into the room and giving off his very best 'this is not okay' look, Sherlock sagged a bit with a pout.

                                "Making breakfast obviously, what does it look like?" He snapped impatiently, clicking his tongue. Hamish was quiet watching the two of them and trying to decide whether or not they were going to argue.

                                "Like you went to war with the kitchen and lost." John snapped back, but smirked.

                                "We did go to war with the kitchen." Sherlock said and tried to look very serious as he did. "That's what making breakfast is about if your behavior during the course of these endeavors is to be believed. But we didn't lose, we don't lose. What are we Hamish?" Sherlock grinned, sweeping over to his son and scooping him up.

                                "We... Are... Piw... Pirates!" Hamish exclaimed proudly, clearly having been scolded by Sherlock for still not pronouncing the letter R properly. John could also tell the little boy had been practicing the word over and over in his head for at least twenty minutes.

                                "You're not pirates," John retorted. "Pirates have a ship."

                                "Pirates! Pirates! Pirates!" Hamish giggled. John couldn't hold out long and eventually he sighed and laughed with them. He started helping clean Hamish up and then sent him out into the dining room when he heard Greg talking quietly to Mycroft.

                He walked over and brushed the flour out of Sherlock's hair and wiped the damp towel he'd cleaned Hamish's face with over Sherlock's cheeks to remove some of the batter lingering there. Sherlock swept in and gave him a quick kiss, a wide smirk still playing at the corners of his mouth.

                                "Who are you and what have you done with my husband the consulting detective?" John asked softly, smirking as he did.

                                "Oh come on John, you're always scolding me for not going along with Hamish's games. Am I going to be scolded for making pretend now?"

                                "It's just not like you to play pranks on Mycroft and make believe with our son. It's a bit disconcerting really." John giggled.

                                "Oh well, to be honest the icing was Hamish's idea."

                                "You're not blaming our one year old for your behavior. You're the adult Sherlock."

                                "It was though, he suggested we do something funny to tease his uncle. I couldn't very well deny him that could I?"

                                "You're horrible, I've married a horrible man." John giggled again and he kissed Sherlock. "Seriously though, we have work to do and if you irritate Mycroft too much we won't have anyone to watch Hamish."

                                "Oh alright, I'll go... Apologize." Sherlock sighed, sulking as he did. But he paused and turned back, his look pure desire as he met John's eyes. "Incidentally how did you know about the icing?"

                                "I didn't know, I observed." John giggled and Sherlock shot him an annoyed grin and clicked his tongue. "There's a bit of pink on the inside of your left wrist, I spotted it when you scratched your nose in bed." He grinned . "Now go and apologize."

                                "Oh just go on and nag me some more when I'm enjoying the thoughts of all the wonderful things I could be doing to you." He strode over and kissed John passionately leaving his head reeling as he turned and picked up the plates of food. John took a few minutes to recover before he went back to cleaning the kitchen, letting the apologies finish before he came into the dining room.

                                "Uncle Myc..croft," Hamish said softly, forcing himself to pronounce his words correctly. "I'm sowwy... Sorry we did that." He looked up at Mycroft and Mycroft's mouth thinned into a tiny line.

                                "As am I." Sherlock sighed and set the food down. "It was a fit of childishness and I will be better about it in the future." He met Mycroft's gaze for only a moment. Mycroft sighed softly, Greg meanwhile consented himself to rearranging the fork at his place setting on the table, a smirk toying at the edge of his mouth.

                                "Sherlock you are an adult, I understand wanting to entertain childish notions but there is a time and a place for that."

                                "Don't lecture me Mycroft, I'm apologizing." Sherlock's mouth tensed.

                                "And I'm accepting but do not do it again." He sighed and went to say something else when Hamish forced his way into his lap and grabbed his lapels.

                                "Please don't be mad." He pleaded, his little eyes round with sadness. Mycroft couldn't hold out and he caved.

                                "You're forgiven." He said softly and Hamish threw his arms around his neck with a squeal of joy. He sighed and tightened his arms around his nephew. Greg couldn't hold out and dissolved into giggles.

                                "And England falls to the puppy eyes of a one year old Holmes." He forced out.

                                "You'd be surprised what a pout from one of the Holmes can get." Sherlock winked. Greg shook his head.

                                "We'll need to do what we can on the grounds today, if I remember correctly there is usually a good amount of rain around this time of year and according to the weather app on my phone there's a front moving in tonight." John said as he entered the room with plates.

                                "It'll rain all week at that rate." Sherlock sighed, already annoying.

                                "Yes, that's what it does. Which means I'll be stuck in the house with you and Hamish with only old case files to occupy you," John teased, clearly hinting that he was the one worse off in the situation. "Greg, when do you head back to London?"

                                "When Lady Pendergrass releases me." He laughed. "Like I said she sent a special request to the Yard for me to come out here said it was a special investigation. I think she got Mycroft's office to help her, but what can I do but follow orders?" Mycroft simply smirked.

                                "I will be heading back tomorrow morning. I have several things to attend to, but I will return within a week or so." Hamish pouted.

                                "But Uncle..." He started to protest. John and Greg both laughed as Mycroft softened some.

                                "That is not a proper sentence, Hamish." He countered and settled Hamish down into his chair. "You two eat and gather what you need to go to the scene of the original crime as I know you're eager to."

                                "Hopefully the rain won't set in before we can make it back." John started eating but looked thoughtful.

                                "We can always spend the night in the Gardner's Cottage if we need to." Sherlock shrugged. John gave him a piercing look, that was not the sort of comment he expected from Sherlock.

                                "We're going to need Molly's report on the body, too." John sighed. "I don't know if I'll be able to get into the secure server out here."

                                "I can have it brought to you this weekend. Leave it to me." Mycroft grinned.

                By the time breakfast was over Hamish had egg on his face, syrup in his hair, and a huge smudge of grease across his cheek. John simply couldn't allow him to remain that way and stood to take him upstairs and give him a bath. Sherlock was left to pack John's forensics kit to be taken with them. John ran a bath for Hamish and set him in the tub, kneeling down beside it. The sleeves of his dark blue button down shirt were rolled up to the elbows and he had a towel draped over his shoulder. He used a cupped hand to gently run water over his son, grinning as Hamish tittered away about nothing. Finally Hamish looked at him with a serious expression.

                                "Daddy, will you tell me stowy?" He asked softly, watching as John grinned.

                                "Sure," He settled down, putting some of the children's shampoo in his hand and gently massaging it into Hamish's hair. The little boy, like his father, loved to have his scalp massaged and he sank simply into the moment. "The Grave of the Lost Solider is for a soldier named Tom. When the Pirate Prince told the Captain about his family, he forgot to order his troops to rest. So it was quite late in the day when they remembered they had to go to tea. Captain John hastily packed up all his soldiers and he and the Prince ran into the house for tea so they wouldn’t get into trouble. When they got there Aunt Georgina told them they looked so happy together that she would make the kitchen prepare their dinner so they could stay out on the grounds the rest of the day. She made them promise to be back by dark and they agreed." He continued washing Hamish, grinning as the boy seemed to completely relax. "When they got back to the gazebo they found the remnants of one of the soldiers, one Captain John had named Tom. The Captain was heartbroken and he felt very guilty. It seemed the gardener had come by just after the boys went to tea and run the little soldier over with the lawn mower. Prince Erik didn't like seeing the Captain look that way, so he offered to build a grave for the little soldier. They dug the hole just in the edge of the bushes so that the grave would remain undisturbed and they could visit it each year. Just after they finished burying the solider though the evil Prince Croft came along the walk! Prince Erik was unhappy about this and told the Captain to hide in the bushes, the Captain was surprised at that but he did as the Prince commanded. Erik meanwhile readied himself and then he jumped out, brandishing his sword at Prince Croft and said: 'Halt who goes there?!' Prince Croft simply crossed his arms and sighed until Erik pushed the sword towards his chest. 'You know who I am,' Croft replied, 'I'm your brother.' Erik snorted with laughter and cried out: 'I have no brother like you! You're a business man in a suit! I have only pirate brothers!' At this point Captain John began to giggle and Croft tried to see who was with Erik, but Erik ran him off. He wanted the Captain all to himself which pleased the Captain quite a lot. The two of them stayed out of the house until dark was really fallen around them and Aunt Georgina called them back. She was going to scold them for breaking the rules but the two of them were so happy when they came running in she forgot all about it and offered them cookies and milk instead." John grinned and scooped Hamish out of the tub, drying him off and putting clean clothes on him.

                                "I like that..." He smiled, his sleepy fist balling up on John's chest.

                                "I love you Hamish." John whispered, nuzzling his cheek.

                                "I love you Daddy."

                John set Hamish down in the bed and helped him snuggle in before he stepped from the room. Sherlock was impatiently pacing the corridor from the hall to the middle of the living room while Greg sat there with his arms crossed. Mycroft stopped John in the hall upstairs.

                                "He's rather wild at the moment, do be careful." He cautioned.

                                "I will. If we do get caught in the rain we should be able to make it back by the morning. Will you two be alright with Hamish?"

                                "You worry too much John. He's perfectly safe with us." Mycroft scolded.

                                "He's my son." His tone was nearly a growl.

                                "And he's my nephew." Mycroft's tone was clear.

                John smiled bitter-sweetly before moving down the stairs and into the main room. He picked up his travel medical case and tucked it inside his forensics bag. Sherlock was riled up, impatient, and he clicked his tongue at John as soon as John stopped to open the kit to check it over.

                                "Come on!" He demanded, "We need to go now."

                                "Sherlock, shouting at me is not going to make me go faster. Did you pack the flashlight?"

                                "Yes." Sherlock stiffened looking at John with a livid stare.

                                "And the portable microscope?"

                                "Yes!"

                                "What about..."

                                "YES!" Sherlock shouted in exasperation, Greg chuckled. John sighed and shook his head.  "I packed everything you will need!"

                                "We'll be back as soon as we can. We won't be leaving the grounds but we're covering quite a bit. We've got our cells. Hamish is napping upstairs."

                                "Its fine John, we've got him. You have fun." Greg's smirk was one of knowing, his eyes barely flicking towards Sherlock.

                                "John..." Sherlock had gone to the door and come back, his impatience only growing.

                                "Alright already, Jesus Sherlock," John half shouted and picked up his coat and his case before following Sherlock out onto the grounds.

                Sherlock took him this way and that as he tried to remap the entire outline of the estate in his mind. The silence between them was tense and forced, because John wasn't sure what sort of mood his husband was actually in. So he followed him quietly until he heard a crack of thunder. He sighed and looked at Sherlock, knowing that they were closer to the Gardener's Cottage than the guest manor.

                                "We're not going to be able to make it back to the cottage before this storm hits. We'd better head towards the Gardener's Cottage." John said loudly but sighed as Sherlock stalked off in the other direction and didn’t seem to hear him at all. John grabbed his arm. "Sherlock!"

                                "What?!" He snapped, clearly upset at being interrupted.

                                "Sherlock, it's going to rain. There's thunder. We need to get to the Gardener's Cottage." He pulled him along. Sherlock was muttering under his breath as they went.

                Darkness rolled in quickly and the rain opened up on them before they made it to the Cottage. John was rather displeased and very grumpy, but he was not so lost in his own thoughts that he missed Sherlock tensing as they approached the scene of James' murder outside the unused Gardener's Cottage. John quickly saw what made Sherlock tense; a shadow flittered across the window of the cottage. John dropped the case just below the tree outside the cottage and the two of them ducked low outside the cottage moving towards the door and slinking after the shadow. They followed the person as they opened the door to the Cottage and John drew his pistol. He motioned for Sherlock to get behind him and he slowly stepped towards the opened door but did not see the shadow move out of it. As he stepped into the cottage however he received a fierce right hook in the jaw.

                                "Shit!" He cursed.

                                "John?!" Sherlock demanded, coming into the doorway but his path was blocked by John's form. The shadow before them was clearly a man and he stood up to his full height ready to attack again.

                                "Stay back Sherlock." John snapped and kicked the man in the shin and watching he fell. John leapt after him, the gun falling to the side and the two tangled together for a tense moment: punches and kicks flying out before a crack of thunder and a flash of lightening illuminated the face of the man John was fighting. John let out a gasp of surprise and held the man roughly about the shoulders as he pulled them both up off the ground. "Jacob!" He shouted as the man lunged at him. "Es ist mir! Es ist mir, John!" John shouted and all three of them froze. Jacob gasped and stumbled back, his entire body going rigid and then softening. John and Jacob were both dumbfounded by the confrontation and Sherlock was stunned into silence at the German falling so easily from John's lips.

                                "Johnny? Ist es wirklich wahr?" He grunted and held his hands up in surrender.

                                "Ja, ist mir, Jacob. Ist mir." John whispered, he turned back to Sherlock. "Sherlock, turn on the light and get my case please." His voice was soft as he grunted and gently palpated his own face to survey the damage. Some bruising and a minor cut were all he found, he let out a heavy breath.

                                "Es tut mir leid, aber ich dachte du wärst jemand anderes." The man said softly and let out a huff of air as he stepped back away from John. "Es ist schon eine lange Zeit, Johnny." The man sighed softly again and sank down in a chair.

                Sherlock found the light switch and flicked it on allowing a dim yellow light to fill the small room of the cottage. This allowed Sherlock and John to both get a good look at the man before them, but their attitudes on the situation were vastly different. Sherlock was still cautious and guarded but it seemed John had released all suspicion of the man before them. Sherlock grabbed the case but he didn't speak because he was actually in a sort of shock. His mind reeling as he took in the vast amount of information before him. The man in front of John was taller and more muscular than John himself, but he had the same sort of military physique and mannerisms. He was older than John but not by more than five years judging by his style of dress. His brown hair was cropped close in a military style hair cut and his green eyes were somewhat dim with exhaustion. He was wearing well made trousers, a dark blue shirt, and a dark blue jacket similar to the one that John often wore. His watch was high end, he had a single gold ring on his right hand, and only one necklace. It was the same one that Jared Pendergrass had been wearing, a snake shaped like an infinity symbol devouring its own tail. John didn't seem to be analyzing anything as he took the case, plopped it down, and hastily extracted his medical kit. He was in full doctor mode as he started triage for Jacob.

                                "Er ist okay, Jacob. Warum bist du hier?" John knelt down, examining cuts on the man's hands.

                                "John, what the hell is this?" Sherlock finally demanded, his face tight. He didn't know John spoke fluent German, he didn't understand why John was being so compassionate towards a man who'd attacked him, and he was definitely not enjoying the feeling of not having the upper hand in the situation. John clearly knew this man and was speaking German to him on purpose. Which could only mean that John had more secrets he hadn't shared with him. It irritated and infuriated him. Lying was one of his biggest pet peeves. "Who is this man?" He narrowed his eyes as he tried to deduce the answer for himself, not watching as John tried to direct his attention elsewhere.

\- The man looked similar to James, Jensen, and Jared but not entirely the same - _Likely a cousin, not the same side as John._

\- Military hair cut, a bit longer than normal, same sort of build as John - _Military service_

\- His tan was darker and he had calluses on his fingers - _In the field longer, infantry or artillery_

\- Body language completely softened, no longer defensive - _John is known, not a threat, familiar_

\- He was relaxed as John touched him - _A familiar closeness, brothers in arms, closer than traditional family_

                But why they were speaking German was completely beyond Sherlock. He hadn't even known John spoke a foreign language, let alone one Sherlock himself knew so little of. The anger that swelled through his chest was laced with pure arousal and a deep need to punish John for lying to him. All three of which made Sherlock feel moderately uncomfortable with his ability to maintain control in the situation. He needed to focus because it was dangerous for John to move so easily from defending Sherlock against a potential threat to doctoring his wounds as if he was an old friend. And in that moment for the first time he wondered if this was what it was like to watch himself at work on a crime scene.

                                "Sherlock this is Jacob Pendergrass. He is a cousin, well isn't really my cousin but he is he's James' nephew. His father Matthew was James' younger brother. Matthew Pendergrass and his wife Amelia had two children - Jacob and a daughter Caroline. I visited them for a few summers when I was between twelve and sixteen. He didn't speak much English back then. I imagine he speaks more now but he is upset so he's likely more comfortable speaking German. Also the German was sort of an unspoken rule of safety for us all - something we agreed on as kids." John turned back to Jacob, clearly ignoring the cut on his cheek. "Jacob, warum bist du hier?" He pressed on, eager to get the information before the fear flitting across Jacob's face set in.

                                "Ich bin gejagt, Johnny."  Jacob slowly lowered his hands, looking at Sherlock warily. John smiled to try to reassure him. "Wer ist er?" He flicked his chin up, indicating Sherlock.

                                "Er ist mein Mann." John grinned and Jacob shook his head with a bark like laugh.

                                "Dein Mann? Wirklich? Ich weiß nicht dass du so." Jacob's smirk didn't fall but it didn't meet his eyes. "Warum sind Sie hier?" He asked gruffly.

                                "Georgie bat uns zu bleiben. Sie bat uns die Morde zu lösen." John's voice revealed the information with purpose, even though Sherlock didn't understand what all he was saying.

                                "Das ist klar aber warum bist du _hier_? Es ist nicht der Hütte." Jacob's eyes betrayed his confusion.

                                "Wir müssen nach Hinweisen suchen, natürlich." John's face betrayed a sort of earnestness. "Wer ist euch zu jagen?" John's eye met Jacobs and they were silent for a moment.

                Sherlock was confused and he did not like the feeling much at all. John's body language went from rigid to protective, shielding Jacob from something. The man had just punched him in the face and now they were chatting away without respect to the fact Sherlock couldn't understand them and it was purely infuriating. He was missing out on vital information because of this and John was being purely oblivious to it. His irritation sky rocketed and he couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer.

                                "John..." Sherlock tried to cut in.

                                "Not now, Sherlock! He's been through a lot, he needs rest and he says someone is chasing him." Sherlock clicked his tongue impatiently. John put his hand on Jacob's leg, ignoring Sherlock's protests. "Wer ist das?" He asked again, directing Jacob to focus on him.

                                "Du weißt wer es ist, Johnny. Es ist dein Vater." Sherlock didn't need a translation of that. That was clear. John's father was somehow involved. Sherlock took to pacing the length of the room behind them, trying to let his irritation out.

                                "Mein Vater, natürlich. Shite," John stood and moved away from Jacob slightly. "Gehe zum Herrenhaus. Nicht mit mir streiten, Jacob." John snapped when the man moved to protest. "Gehe zu Georgina und sagen Sie ihr ist der Schlüssel im Schloss. Sie wird Ihnen helfen."

                                "Nein, ich kann nicht." Jacob tensed, he moved to say something else but John cut him off.

                                "Gehe, Jacob." John pulled him up and hugged him gruffly. "Ich will nicht zu sehe dich zu verletzen. Wir behandeln diese. Wir sind besser vorbereitet, um ihn zu stoppen."

                                "Du bist in gefahr, John. Du und dein Sohn. Er kommt hierher und jetzt ich denke es ist wegen dir. " Jacob shook but John pulled him up and pushed him towards the door. Sherlock's attention snapped back to the conversation, he was sure that Jacob had just mentioned Hamish.

                                "Ich weiß, ich sah ihn. Gehe Jacob, jetzt." John sank down in the chair as Jacob pushed passed Sherlock and took off.

                                "We're just letting him leave?" Sherlock looked confused. John sighed and looked up at Sherlock, the emotion of his gaze causing Sherlock's anger to deflate.

                                "Yes." Sherlock came over and started tending to John's cut cheek. John grunted. "He isn't the murderer he's a potential victim. He will be in the main house, Georgie has a secret code she told me about in the letter she sent. He's going to give her the password. We'll know right where he is."

                                "John, you had better start talking." He growled, his movements rife with his anger. John grunted as Sherlock moved.

                                "Jacob Pendergrass is not a suspect in this Sherlock. He isn’t here to try to cover something up, he’s running from someone.” John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes he and I served together different units but same time frame. He came home and retired just before I was sent home. He is the last actual male heir to the Pendergrass name."

                                "Is he the one James left everything too?" He asked softly, trying to pry information out of John.

                                "No. That was... Uhm, me. Jacob's father had enough money for him and his sister." John blushed slightly and Sherlock continued tending to his scratches without any retort. "But Jacob said someone was chasing him. This has to do with the secret society that our fathers were a part of." John sighed, the rain was pouring down now.

                                "He said something about your father…”

                                “Yes, apparently my father is involved.” John sighed and sank back. “I need to look at the case files." John's brain seemed to suddenly snap back to functioning and he turned to look at Sherlock with a piercing gaze as he stood and walked over to look out the window. "Why did we even come out here Sherlock? All the data was washed away years ago."

                                “Erm,” Sherlock suddenly looked sheepish, John turned his attention back to him looking miffed. “I wanted to see the place where we witnessed the original murder..." He stood, wringing his hands.

                                "And?" John demanded.

                                "And I was hoping the rain would strand us out here all night.” He flushed slightly as John's eyes met his again.

                                “Sherlock Holmes!” John growled but Sherlock was all over him. The adrenaline of the fight and his passion at hearing John uttering words in another tongue changing the air in the room from post-fight to pure lust. “Sherlock,” John grunted even as Sherlock pushed his wet coat off his shoulders. “SHERLOCK!”

                                “What John?” He demanded impatiently, rather upset at being interrupted.

                                “Did you plan this?” John was panting, his arms pinned behind him as Sherlock held tightly to his coat.

                                “For us to get stuck yes, for you to be so bloody interesting no,” He groaned and he used his hips to shove John into the wall. “Now shut up. You're making far too much fuss for someone about to be ravaged.”

                John groaned as Sherlock’s mouth was all over his jaw, neck, lips, and chest as Sherlock opened his shirt. He was in a hurry and it was incredible. This wasn’t the first time Sherlock used a case as an excuse to leave Hamish with Mycroft and Lestrade so they could be alone for awhile, but it made John feel a pang of guilt.

                                “It would have been fine if you hadn’t started speaking German!” Sherlock grunted reading John's thought right off his face, pushing the shirt away now as well.

                                “Mögen sie es, wenn ich so reden?” John purred in his ear, simply doing it to torment Sherlock. He was answered with a hard slam into the wall. Sherlock was all over him his hot mouth desperately attacking every inch of skin that was slowly being exposed by Sherlock's long cool fingers.

                                “You still keep secrets from me, even now…” Sherlock growled in his ear, pulling back hard on his hair. “You have never once told me you speak another language,” Another tug, “And you so easily deduced everything this morning… God I am going to fucking claim you.” Sherlock’s voice was full of lust and passion. "You need to be punished." He growled, using the hold on John's hair to move his head and bring his mouth back to John's neck.

                                “Sher…Sherlock…” John whimpered. "We should..."

                                "No John, I am far too gone to think logically anymore. No more thinking tonight. We're soaked through and the thunder is louder which means this storm is only getting started. I could not have planned this better myself." He growled and tightened his grip on the jacket pinning John to the wall.

                                "Jesus Sherlock, I didn't expect this..." John groaned as Sherlock started kissing his neck again.

                                “I almost threw you over the table in our room this morning, John.” His eyes flashed. "You were so damned..." But what he was, was lost as he groaned under Sherlock's work.

                Sherlock pulled his shirt free of his shoulders and it went the way of the jacket, keeping his arms held behind his back as Sherlock trailed hot kisses over his chest. He paused to toy with each of his nipples, lavishing attention on them until John whimpered. Sherlock was desperate to touch and use him the same sort of desperation he'd had during their first time. He was claiming John all over again and it made John's knees feel weak. There was a flutter of motion behind his back and he felt the jacket fall to the floor, but when he tried to pull his hands forward he couldn't.

                                "Sherlock, when you want this it's all or nothing..." John groaned.

                                "Stop thinking," He snapped, his fingers finding the clasp on Johns belt. Suddenly his trousers were gone and he was almost completely naked while Sherlock was still completely clothed. John groaned in protest but he received a swift smack on the ass for that. He grunted. "No, John, I'm doing this how I want to." John groaned as Sherlock's hand slid down, taking his pants with them. Those long fingers pressing into every inch of skin on his legs.

                                "Sherlock," He whimpered, completely lost in the sensation. Sherlock rarely was so impatient with this, so desperately desirous. It made him feel drunk.

                                "Already so erect," Sherlock smirked, his hands slowly wrapping around John before he licked the tip of his length.

                                "S-Sherlock!" John bucked forward only to be slammed back into the wall.

                                "I should have brought the handcuffs." He chuckled softly as he wrapped his mouth around John and took him as deeply as he could. He held there until John stopped shaking and then slid back.

                John groaned and his eyes fluttered closed. Sherlock kept moving so incredibly slowly until John desperately whimpered. Sherlock stood and turned John, positioning him over the low desk in front of the window so that his ass was raised and presented for Sherlock to use, his arms still pinned behind his back. John blushed slightly, his face turned to watch Sherlock. He'd never seen such an intent look on his face.

                                "You didn't even notice I slipped this into your medical kit, did you?" He smirked as he reached in and pulled out a small bottle of lubricant. "So clever when observing what your son and I do, but not clever enough to see my plans." He set the bottle down next to John and without warning brought a harsh smack down across John's bare arse. "That's for lying to me." And another. "And that's for scolding me this morning." He growled, his coat fluttering to the ground behind him.

                John grunted and wiggled a bit, the aching need in his cock pressing everything else out of his mind. Sherlock was angry and desperate to relieve a whole host of emotion he was holding inside. John didn't mind letting him use his body this way, it thrilled him. Another smack came down and John cried out in pleasure, feeling the red bloom across his sensitive cheeks.

                                "I'm sorry Sherlock..." Smack. "I'm sorry Master." John grunted and he felt those long cool fingers rubbing soothing circles over the sore blushing cheeks. "It never came up in conversation, so I forgot to mention it."

                                "Are there any other secrets you haven't told me?" He growled, leaning down so his restricted erection pressed into those blushing cheeks.

                                "No! No!" He whimpered, thrashing a bit under him. He grunted and whimpered again.

                                "Listen to you," He purred, his fingers tracing lines over John's pack. "Listen to how you're begging with every breath..." His eyes flashed darkly. "Is there something you want, my pet?"

                                "God Sherlock please!" John whimpered but all he received was another hard smack. He jolted and whimpered.

                                "I think you like being spanked more than you've previously told me." Sherlock's voice hummed in his ear as those long fingers started to toy with the tight ring of muscle that quivered.

                                "I do, God I do. You... I told you when we were on the Lindberg case." He mumbled, his voice muffled by moans and whimpers.

                                "Ah yes, when we were in the horrible little hotel room and I almost slammed you through the wall." The smirk was clear in Sherlock's voice as his nails clawed into John's arse. He slowly slipped a finger inside, pressing in slowly as John whimpered and struggled not to move though he desperately wanted to push back.

                                "Yes, you practically painted me on the wall." His breath hitched and Sherlock moaned softly as he watched John melt under his work.

                                "We're going to have to arrange a date night once a week. I need to touch you more often." Sherlock replied conversationally as he slowly worked his finger into and out of John, seemingly ignoring how much John was whimpering. John's hips bucked forward desperate for something to buck against and Sherlock spanked him again.

                                "I'm sorry, I can't..." John pleaded, his voice quaking.

                                "You can't _what_?" A hand worked its' way back into John's hair and pulled hard, raising his eyes to meet Sherlock's as he slid a second finger into that clenching tightness.

                                "Fuck me Sherlock, please!"

                                "So desperate," Sherlock growled, biting down on John's ear. His mouth found purchase on the curve of his neck, suckling and biting with force as it did. John whimpered and moaned Sherlock's name, knowing that Sherlock was marking him. "Ask me again." He growled.

                                "Benutzen Sie mich!" John shouted, using the only trick he had left. Sherlock growled and bit harder, John jolting as he did.

                                "Oh you are very good..." He purred, removing his hands only to undo his trousers. "I'm not even going to take these off John. I'm going to fuck you with my clothes on." The click of the lube cap, a few moments pause and then John almost shouted. Sherlock pushed into him hard.

                                "Sherlock!" John shouted, struggling against the shirt that held him.

                                "God I can't believe you lied to me." He growled, his nails digging into John's hips before one had slipped under John and wrapped tightly around his length, stroking up and down in time with the thrusts meeting his sore ass.

                John dissolved into a whimpering mess, fingers twisting vainly against the cloth that held them. Sherlock let out a moan that became a growl as his hand still tugged at John's hair. He was thrusting into him with a punishing pace and he felt John's body contract just before the orgasm ripped through him and forced him to cry out. He clenched so hard around Sherlock that his own orgasm followed suit and he fell over, collapsing on John. John panted, still struggling against his bound arms but unable to get them free. Sherlock slowly slid out of John after catching his breath and collapsed down onto the floor, pulling John into his lap.

                                "Sherlock?" John whispered softly, trembling hard.

                                "If you ever lie to me again I will punish you for real." Sherlock growled, pressing his mouth to the other side of John's neck and marking it equally, his hand wound tightly in that sandy hair. John whimpered in reply. "So... Now my pet, tell me what he said."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conversation between John and Jacob boils down to explanations about why they are both at Pendergrass Estate and Jacob explaining that he is being chased by John's father. Jacob leaves John with a warning that both John and Hamish are in danger. John responds saying he knows they are and that he has seen his father somewhere on the Pendergrass Estate grounds. 
> 
> As always comments and kudos appreciated!


	5. A New Twist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is trying to keep up with the case, the unfurling history of both his and Sherlock's life, and the new shifts in Sherlock's personality. Or the one where Sherlock plays make believe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note this store does contain an original backstory made by me which includes characters I created and modifications/additions to canon characters. It also includes mention of hate crimes and homophobia. This chapter isn't very graphic with only a little smut but it's building darkness for the coming days. 
> 
> Also a note here - Sherlock is growing and expanding as a character so he might seem a little wonky at times as we go here. Please bear with me, he has some sort of scheme going and sometimes characters don't tell their authors what's happening until it does!

                When Sherlock and John finally returned to their guest house the next afternoon Greg chuckled a bit at the sight of them. John's scarf just barely hid the hint of the two dark purple bruises on his neck. Two bruises Sherlock had been insistent on making longer lasting and that effort resulting in them spending the entire morning in a sweaty, disheveled heap in the Gardener's Cottage and missing Mycroft's departure. He looked positively calm and content as he strode in and scooped Hamish up just as Hamish ran to them. He seemed to have an abundance of fondness for all of them at the moment and it was just as unsettling to Greg as his impatience had been the day before. John was blushing a bit and avoided Greg's gaze. Hamish hugged Sherlock as tightly as he could with his little arms, desperate to keep him close.

                                "My little pirate," Sherlock grinned adjusting the scarf slightly before kissing his forehead.

                                "Daddys! I missed you!" Hamish reached out and grabbed John's scarf pulling it free in his attempt to pull John closer. "Daddy! Did you get huwt?"

                                "Hamish," Sherlock said scoldingly, stopping John from answering until he asked properly.

                                "Did you get huw...hurt?" Hamish asked again.

                                "I'm alright Hamish, don't you worry about it, love." John blushed but he hugged Hamish, sandwiching the boy between the two of them. Greg was chuckling softly.

                                "You two are lucky My had to leave, he was raging this morning about how irresponsible the two of you are." Greg stood and yawned. He narrowed his eyes slightly as he realized John's cheek was slightly bruised with a small cut. "Who hit you in the face, John?" He moved over quickly looking at John's cheek. John pulled away.

                                "We had a bit of a shock out there last night. One of my cousins was trying to find a place to hide out here as he thinks someone is chasing him. He thought we might have been his attackers and went for my face. We tussled a bit but once we figured out who each other were we backed down. It's all fine." John smirked.

                                "Daddys, please don't go away again so soon." Hamish said softly, his eyes wide with tears.

                                "Oh Hamish, love..." John whispered and he took Hamish from Sherlock. He cuddled him close rocking him.

                                "I'm sorry love, we've been bad haven't we?" Sherlock whispered and gently ran his hand over Hamish's head. Greg moved into the kitchen to make some tea and grab something for them to eat in case they wanted to, giving the family a moment.

                                "I... I know... You get bad guys." Hamish said softly, looking ashamed for being so sad. John sighed.

                                "Not your son, you say?" John whispered to Sherlock. "Love it's okay to be sad." John whispered to the little boy, sitting down and holding him tightly. He rocked him gently. "I'm sorry we've been gone so much, we'll be better okay?"

                                "It's my fault," Sherlock said softly and both of them looked at him with wide eyes. "You see Hamish, Daddy has been very sad lately because of what happened with your Mommy. So your Dad wanted to cheer him up by taking him to have adventures like we used to when we were little. I was trying to cheer him up and I made him forget to take care of himself and you, and I forgot to spend time with you too." He leaned down so his forehead was against Hamish's in John's arms. "Forgive me?" He asked softly.

                                "Mmhmm." Hamish said softly, nodding and wrapping his arms around Sherlock's neck and cuddling into John.

                                "I'm sorry too Hamish." John said quietly. They sat that way for awhile before Sherlock got up to help Greg. They set everything on the table and John enjoyed the feel of his son in his arms. He took him to the table and they all sat and chatted for awhile, relaxing in the moment.

                                "So are you two dashing off again?" Greg asked softly and Hamish, now in Sherlock's lap - tightened his grip on his shirt.

                                "No, there's not much to do right now because of the weather. I'll need to talk to Jacob, John's cousin, sometime in the next few days but likely John will have to come with me because he only speaks German." Sherlock smirked at Greg's confusion.

                                "What good would... Wait... Are you saying," Greg looked at John with astonishment. "You speak German?"

                                "Fluently. I've been teaching Hamish some as well." John blushed a bit with pride. "Ist nicht das so, Hamish?"

                                "Ja! Natürlich!" Hamish exclaimed proudly. Sherlock looked like a sudden mix of feelings were boiling through him. He fixed his full glaring gaze on John as his eyes broke him down and studied him. Greg would never get over how _easily_ John bore that look.

                                "When were you going to tell me you were teaching our son German?" He demanded, crossing his arms with a coy smile.

                                "When he started shouting at you in it, because the look on your face would have been priceless." John shrugged and Greg laughed loudly.

                                "I would have paid to see that." Greg chuckled on.

                                "Oh I'm sure you'll see it, unless Sherlock suddenly demands I teach him."

                                "It's quite the possibility. I can't have _my_ husband and _my_ son keeping secrets." He smirked, his eyes flashing with possessiveness and inspiring indecent thoughts to obliterate John's train of thought. John coughed slightly and looked away, blushing a bit. Hamish was being a bit restless in Sherlock's arms, but he sat up suddenly and looked at them both.

                                "Let's be pirates!" Hamish demanded. "Please Daddys?!" John looked back out the windows, the rain had started again. That would be trouble and it meant they would need to keep the boys occupied if they wanted any sanity, so he jumped up out of his chair pretending to look affronted.

                                "I'm not just pirate!" He said suddenly and stood up tall, puffing out his chest proudly. "How dare you!" Greg almost fell out of his chair laughing. "How dare you laugh scurvy dog!" John snapped but a laugh played on his lips and Sherlock was almost giggling.

                                "Oh!" Hamish gasped in awe. "You're the Captain!" He made a little salute and the three men giggled. Sherlock jumped up, Hamish tightly held in his arms before he set him down and bent low so his eyes were right in front of Hamish's. Hamish had the little toy sword around his waist and the eye patch on his head.

                                "What's yar name, wee pirate?" Sherlock said getting a serious look on his face and rolling the words in his mouth the way pirates did in movies. John watched almost in awe as Sherlock once again gave in and made believe with their son. It was painfully tender and endearing, and it was incredible to watch - just like everything else the detective did.

                                "I'm the Pi..Pirate..." Hamish blushed, not used to the intent stare his father was giving him, but he took a deep breath and puffed his chest out just as John had done. "I'm the Pirate Prince Hamish!" He exclaimed broadly, looking rather proud of himself. Sherlock broke into half a smirk.

                                "Arr, well Pirate Prince Hamish, give me my sword." He demanded, holding out his hand. "A Pirate Prince... No, the Pirate King is nothing without his sword!" Sherlock announced grandly and taking the sword from Hamish rounded on John. "And you scurvy curr, just what are you doing standing around like an idle fish?!" He poked John in the chest with the sword. "Find me scarf, now Captain!" Hamish giggled and stood behind Sherlock, grabbing his leg. He'd lowered the eye patch over his left eye.

                                "Arr!" He shouted loudly.

                                "Pirate King is it?" John said smirking. "Well a King is nothing without the Captain o' his ship! You'd do well to remember that Erik!" He was almost giggling but checked it just in time. "I'll go find our gear if'n ya be wanting it. Prepare the ship!" He yelled as he swept up the stairs.

                Greg wasn't left alone for long and just like that the four of them dissolved into one of the silliest games they had ever played. Greg could not believe the extent that Sherlock went in playing such a farfetched make believe game with his son. Once John had returned from upstairs with a woefully destroyed bed sheet the three adults were outfitted with bandanas and using two pokers from the fire place John and Greg were armed. Sherlock then divided them up into two teams, John and Greg against the pirate royalty. They chased each other around and around the living room, using the two opposing couches as their ships and giggling themselves silly as they did. Hamish was having the time of his life and he was nothing but smiles, laughter, and joy as they played; but he was a very bad pirate because every time he supposedly injured someone he hugged them and begged them for forgiveness - causing the adults to giggle. After awhile there was a snap of a car door outside and they all paused to listen as footsteps came towards the door. Sherlock easily recognized the footfall and whispered something to Hamish before he put his finger to his lips to silence the boy who had been giggling. Molly walked in the door with her arms full of things, she was carrying a weekend bag, a portfolio, and a brief case. The room was utterly silent and she couldn't see anyone as she entered into the house. She'd been hoping at least one of the three men would help her carry all of this. She sighed and stepped further into the living room confusion on her face as she didn't even hear any noise indicating the men were there. The four pirates were hidden completely behind the two couches, held back by Sherlock's slightly outstretched hand as Hamish was directed to slowly slip around the edge, around the dining room table and right behind Molly. As if she could feel the potential danger she looked around the living room cautiously as she stepped further in.

                                "Sherlock? John?" She called out quietly. "Detective?!"

                                "You'we my pwisoner!" Hamish exclaimed suddenly, sneaking up right behind her and brandishing the sword. He was far too excited to say his words properly and Sherlock sighed softly. But she jumped and let out a little squeal before dissolving into giggles.

                                "Hamish Gregory!" She snapped and he pouted. John and Greg burst into a huge fit of giggles, revealing themselves from behind the couch. Sherlock slowly arched himself over the back of the couch and lay down, claiming his ship for himself.

                                "What is going on?" She demanded as she looked at the state of the four of them. She was still chuckling slightly as she noticed not only John but Sherlock and Greg had bandanas on and that Greg and John were still holding pokers. They looked a sight, their sleeves rolled up to their elbows and white and blue bits of sheet tied around their heads. Hamish was flush from excitement but looked down as he pouted in the way he only could have learned from his detective father.

                                "I'm sowwy Aunt Molly. We was playing." He looked down.

                                "Hamish!" Sherlock snapped gently.

                                "I'm sorry." Hamish repeated. "Aunt Molly, we were just playing." He forced the words out.  

                Molly dissolved into giggles as they slowly began to return the living room to its' normal state. John and Greg pulled their bandanas off and moved toward Molly with smiles. They both took some of the items from her and John let his bandana fall on the table when he removed it. She almost doubled over when she looked at Sherlock properly though.  He'd taken not only the sword but the eye patch from Hamish. Which he fixed over his left eye and his bandana was covering almost all of his dark hair. The tiny sword rested firmly in his right hand though he was at ease splayed across the couch. The sight was absolutely ridiculous and she almost fell over she was laughing so hard. John and Greg joined her with a few chuckles as they sat down on the other couch.

                                "I think I've gone mad." She whispered and Sherlock blushed just a bit. "Have you lost your head?" She asked him softly.

                                "Don't be silly Aunt Molly," He snapped in his normal tone. "We were making pretend." Sherlock said the last word with a dramatic flourish but he straightened up and tried to regain his normal demeanor.

                                "Oh don't go all cold Sherlock, it's alright. It's expected that you would play games with Hamish." She offered consolingly and he softened just a bit.

                                "Aunt Molly came!" Hamish exclaimed running around in circles, around her legs. "Aunt Molly!!! Aunt Molly!!!" He giggled and she scooped him up, hugging him.

                                "Yes, I've come to stay for the whole weekend." She said brightly, cuddling him closer. Your Uncle sent me to bring your Dads some things. He sent me with a lot of paperwork for you two. The portfolio contains pictures and information on the bodies you were looking for, along with all the reports for the most recent case." She blushed a bit.

                                "Thank you Molly, we appreciate it." Sherlock said genuinely and smiled before completely giving into his curiosity and rooting through the folio. He slowly pulled the bandana from his head and let it fall on the table,

                                "Would you like some tea or something to eat Molly?" John asked quietly, coming to kiss Hamish on top of the head as he snuggled into her.

                                "Oh yes, please." Her smile broadened and she moved over to sit at the table, giving Sherlock answers to his questions as he went through the papers.

                                "We must all seem like we've gone mad. Could you have seen any of us doing this when they first met?" Greg said quietly to her as he sat down, she shook her head no. "This little boy sure has changed our lives." He ran a few fingers through Hamish's hair as the boy closed his eyes and hummed happily in Molly's arms.

                                "Some of us more than others." She smirked and her eyes flicked to Sherlock who had the eye patch off and was positively devouring the pictures with his piercing gaze. They didn't worry themselves with Sherlock's behavior anymore, knowing as they did that he likely wasn't even in the room with them anymore.

                John worked in the kitchen for a little bit, making some tea and sandwiches before bringing them out to the table. He went back into the kitchen to clean up and lost himself staring out the window for a minute. His thoughts turning to the night before, to what Jacob had said about John and Hamish being in danger. It was true, John had seen the shadow of the familiar on the property. He could feel the prickle on his skin that meant danger was only too close to them again. He worried for their son and for his husband for a moment before he reminded himself that anyone stupid enough to try to harm either of them would bring a wrath down on themselves that no one could escape. He shuddered as he thought what Sherlock would be like if someone captured him now or Hamish. Greg and Mycroft had given him full accounts of what Sherlock had been like after Kitty had kidnapped him, even though they knew it was going to happen. He sighed and returned to the others, picking up one of the file folders and flicking through it almost angrily.

                                "This still isn't right." He mumbled softly and got up, tearing up the stairs before anyone could say anything to him. Sherlock was actually drawn from the files long enough to watch his husband, a contented hum escaping him as he returned to work. John rummaged through their suitcase until he found an old brown leather journal, almost sighing with pleasure at seeing it again. He brought it downstairs and sat back down opening it to compare it to the witness accounts from James Pendergrass' file.

                                "What's that?" Molly asked quietly, raising an eyebrow.

                                "Oh yes, you missed that." John blushed a bit and Sherlock's cheeks went a bit pink. "It turns out Sherlock and I knew each other and we were both here the summer James Pendergrass was murdered."

                                "Oh the two of you must have been so adorable." Molly gushed and John coughed as he blushed more making her giggle.

                                "Sherlock called himself the Pirate Prince Erik," Greg offered tilting his head to the side and winking. Molly giggled loudly and Hamish made a grumpy noise. He was snuggled quite close to her chest and had been almost asleep, he was not pleased by the loud noise.

                                "He's been sleeping a lot lately, I think that tooth was getting pretty bad." John said softly, moving over to look at Hamish's mouth. "It looks like it's healing okay though." Hamish reached out for John, who easily took the sleepy boy into his own arms.

                                "Shut up all of you." Sherlock snapped and John crossed his arms as best he could with little Hamish in them. "Not good?" He asked sheepishly as he realized how terse he must have sounded.

                                "A bit, yea." John conceded and moved to sit down, opening the journal again but holding Hamish with one hand.

                Silence fell with the exception of Sherlock asking both Greg and Molly questions about the work they had done on the various cases.  John furrowed his brow as he read over the description of the murderer that both boys had written in the journal. He set it down on the table, using an ornament to hold it open so he could run a hand through Hamish's hair as the boy slept soundly against his chest.

                                "Some of that writing looks like Sherlock's." Greg exclaimed in soft surprise as he leaned over looking at it. John felt a protective urge well up in his chest and he moved the book just slightly. Greg smiled warmly and sat back, but John blushed.

                                "He wrote a little in it, mostly his own witness accounts of..." Sherlock snapped the book out of John's hand and began reading it.

                                "Oh how..." Sherlock tensed his face slightly, " _Sentimental_ I was." John sighed and realized that "case mode" had returned. Sherlock set the book back down and John looked over the stack of pictures Sherlock had reorganized.

                                "These necklaces what are they?" John mused out loud. He was flicking through the photos noting how Sherlock had stacked them. They reminded him of military rank symbols.

                                "The Serpents and the Scepters." Sherlock replied simply from the track he was pacing. "It's an organization with political motives that believes itself to operate outside the confines of any particular government or country. There are chapters all around the world and your father, my father, and the Pendergrass men were all members at some point." He swept back over to them, leaning over John in such a way it made John shiver slightly, the thrill of the case. "If you look closely," He moved to pull out the pictures of James and Jared's a pleased smirk crossing his face as he realized John was already on his way to the conclusion. "James has two bars running the length of his serpent. That denotes his rank, he was likely a third or fourth rank member. Whereas Jared was an initiate, having only a crude serpent without much form." John turned without thinking to look at Sherlock and their closeness immediately presented intimacy, aware they were being watch both of them coughed slightly and Sherlock swept back to pace.

                                "How do you..." John mumbled and blushed. "Never mind."

                                "They approached me just before I went to Uni. I turned them down, it was so obvious and boring. I don't think Mycroft joined either, though I know he has a lot of contact with people I suspect to be members. I'm not surprised they didn't approach you - your father likely disgraced himself with the order after that summer." He rattled it off the same way he did any other deduction and though he didn't mean the words harshly John still went a bit pink. "I'm sorry, that's no reflection on you John." John nodded. Hamish shifted slightly, balling the buttons of John's shirt up in his hand as he slept.

                                "I know, it's one on my father..." John growled and Sherlock's face tensed into an almost Mycroft like sneer.

                                "Bad blood then?" Greg asked looking up at them. John sighed.

                                "My father was homophobic to the point of violence." John said softly and he conceded that he would have to say more as Sherlock's attention was on him now which mean he felt it was relevant to the case. "Harry and me both knew pretty young what we liked and that what we liked wasn't what he wanted us to like. She liked girls and I liked boys. Harry is five years older than me, so about the time my father caught on to the fact I might like boys better than girls, she already had her first girlfriend. Sometimes I swear I can still hear him screaming at her." He closed his eyes, not wanting the emotion to show on his face. "Mom never defended us but she never really took his side either. She sort of just let him do what he wanted. So he screamed at Harry, and when that didn't work they sent her to some specialist. Then to several counselors. Before long she'd had enough and decided to run away, I think her girlfriends parents let her stay there for awhile. She ran away the end of the summer James' was murdered. She'd already been planning it, but I think the breaking point for both her and my relationship with her was when she saw how I..." He opened his eyes, tensing but looking down at Hamish to keep his face blank. "Basically I betrayed her. I'd been her biggest supporter my whole life, saying she should love or like whatever she wanted but I was so wounded by the way the summer turned out that I shoved my truth deep inside myself and started to pretend I fancied girls. So she ran away, first to her girlfriends house and then to stay with our grandparents until she was able to get into a youth home. She met a counselor who helped her process a divorce from my parents and she became her own legal guardian at seventeen. She refused to talk to me and our relationship just fell completely apart. Meanwhile I was back home, the pride of Dad's eyes because I was dating girl after girl. All the while rotting away inside because I wasn't happy." He sighed and a tear slid down his cheek. He looked back up as Sherlock came over and took the sleeping Hamish from his arms, settling down on the couch with him so he could watch John and so John could feel.

                                "How horrible." Molly whispered softly, looking positively awed at John. "Having to hide your heart like that."

                                "It got worse." John sighed, of course it did. "The next year I got the letter from Sherlock saying that he wasn't going to be a pirate anymore because he was going to become a detective so that we could be friends again. It reopened the wound and I ran away from home for a week because no matter how I tried to fight it, I couldn't hide how badly it hurt me. Harry let me stay with her at the risk of her getting kicked out of her place. We talked a lot but she was still angry with me because I was still lying to myself about what I felt. By then I was so convinced I had lied to myself that I had a furious row with her. I asked her to guard the box of memories from that last summer here and she promised me she would. She put it in a safety deposit box but she lost the key because she was already a heavy drinker. Meanwhile I was being shipped off to Germany every summer to see my cousins, so we lost touch again for awhile. By the time I was seventeen I'd had enough of being there in that fucking house," John sighed when Sherlock tutted at him. "My parents were pressuring me to find a girl to marry and I'd already had at least fifteen girlfriends. I didn't want to get married, I didn't want the life they were trying to shove down my throat. But by then I had so disconnected from my own truth I didn't connect it with Dad's homophobia. I just knew I had to get out of the house. Harry had gone to an addiction center and she put me in contact with her old counselor who helped me file the paperwork to become my own guardian and I stayed in a hostel and worked part time until I could get into Uni. I got full scholarships because of my grades and I went straight from school into the military. No time for stopping, no time for second guesses. Harry and I became even more distant because I refused to accept her drinking and she refused to accept my lack of respect for myself. She hated how I'd found someone I loved so much and now I was reduced to a new girl every week, shagging her, and then leaving her because she wasn't good enough. I couldn't sustain a long term relationship..." He flushed a bit with shame and embarrassment because they were all looking at him with awe, pity, and some sort of adoration.

                                "To think you had to push something so integral to who you are so far away..." Molly whispered.

                                "You hid your heart." Sherlock whispered and John very briefly met his eyes before he spoke.

                                "Well by the time I met you lot it wasn't very hidden was it." John said softly, trying to joke. Sherlock smirked but looked down at Hamish, a tightness in his features expressing his pain for John.

                                "Mate, it's not funny." Greg said softly, putting his hand on his shoulder. "We teased you relentlessly, you must have hated it." His words were apologetic.

                                "I don't think I knew the truth anymore." John admitted honestly.

                                "You still probably hurt." Molly added and John had to concede the point.

                                "I'm sorry." Greg offered and John blushed.

                                "Oh stop it!" Sherlock grunted, finally breaking from his thoughts. "Stop being so damn sentimental." Hamish grunted and Sherlock looked sheepish.

                                "Sherlock, stop being such a jerk." John snapped and the four of them laughed. Sherlock blushing just slightly. He moved over and took Hamish from him. "I'm going to go settle him in upstairs."

                                "We'll keep an eye on the detective for a bit." Greg teased and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

                                "I'm going to go upstairs myself. I believe my son asked for my attention and I'll have better luck in my mind palace if I don't have you two staring at me." He teased and Molly just shook her head.

                                "I'll show Molly her room then, you two are bloody terrible hosts." Greg teased as John blushed.

                                "Sorry..." He mumbled and Molly just smiled.

                                "It's alright, case mode yea?" She grinned.

                John carried Hamish gently up the stairs, Sherlock brooding silently behind him as they went. He settled Hamish down on the sofa in their room, retrieving a blanket from the closet and the stuff parrot from the memory box. Hamish clutched it tightly muttering that he loved them before he curled up in the blanket and sank to sleep. John sighed and went to say something to Sherlock but he was already curled up in a chair by the window, his hands and mouth moving the way they did when he searched his mind palace for connections. John rummaged a bit to find clean clothes and then moved into the bathroom, he turned the shower on almost scaldingly hot and stepped out of his clothes. He slipped into the shower and leaned against his arms, letting the water pound over his body. His mind was racing over everything he'd said earlier, his body tight with anger and anxiety of years gone by. He shouted when he suddenly felt arms around his waist.

                                "Jesus Sherlock!" He panted, trembling on the edge of his first panic attack in ages.

                                "I'm sorry, I spoke to you before I came in." That voice trembled across his ear full of emotion and mischief.

                                "Did you?" He turned to look at Sherlock properly, wrapping his arms around his neck.

                                "Yes, I asked if it was alright for me to join you. Where was your mind?" He asked softly, one hand reaching up to touch his cheek.

                                "On past hurts and hatred." He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning into Sherlock's touch.

                                "I'm sorry that summer haunted you so much." He whispered, the apology sounding strange coming forth in his words.

                                "I'm not." John smiled at Sherlock's utter confusion. "It led me back to you." Sherlock pushed against John softly and without hesitating John melted back into the cold tile of the shower.

                                "You've suffered so much for me, dealt with so many shifts and changes in your life it must feel like you're never on solid ground, and yet you wake up each morning thinking of one thing..." He whispered, his mouth pressing in towards John. "Me." He barely breathed as their lips met, the water raining down over the both of them.

                John moaned softly, a low needy thing, as Sherlock kissed him. Nothing he knew about this man made sense again, something so subtle having shifted inside that delicate make up that now he was left wondering and reeling in new territory again. It made a desperate ache claw at his chest as their mouths continued to move almost violently against the others. John found his arms being pushed above his head and pinned as Sherlock claimed his lips, pulling back only to nibble on them before sinking back in again. Over and over he did it until John was whimpering and pleading for more. Desperate to feel more of what this change was bringing to them. Sherlock pulled back slightly, placing a few gentle nuzzling sort of movements against John's cheek but not letting his arms go.

                                "You're trying to solve me again," He whispered his lips moving in such a way they brushed John's own.

                                "You've never wanted this much contact on a case." He replied, almost breathlessly. "I'm not complaining..." He spoke quickly but Sherlock smirked.

                                "I know." That smug know it all tone again...

                                "This whole case has changed something inside of you again..." John's voice didn't even feel like his own because he was aching with desire.

                                "It has." His lover conceded, his mouth sliding across John's jaw and down onto his shoulders, his tongue putting just enough pressure on the love bite there to make John arch. "My mind can't stop, but I have been woefully neglectful of you and our son. I mean to remedy that as soon as this case is closed." The tongue pressed in again and John softly cried out.

                                "I..." He grunted as Sherlock's mouth moved lower and his tongue flicked across the hard nipple it found. "I understood the risks..."

                                "I made oaths to you... I've broken them." His voice hummed against John's chest and John whimpered again. "Look at you..." He purred, releasing John's arms because he knew John would hold them in place on his own. His nails flicking across the other nipple. "I've made you feel like I don't want you every moment, which isn't true. It's woefully distracting and utterly debilitating." He hummed again, kissing lower - down over his abdomen.

                                " _Sherlock_ ," He forced out in a hissed whisper.

                                "You're mine, John." That growl again, the one that melted everything John knew to be true in the world. "When this case is closed we're going to take Hamish on holiday. Then when we come back, you and I are going away for a long weekend and you won't need to pack anything..."

                John went to reply but suddenly Sherlock's hot, wet mouth was sweeping over his aching length. He held John's hips down firmly as he worked, John utterly frozen by the sheer sensation sweeping through him. All at once he was pulled down onto Sherlock's lap, their cocks brushing against each other as Sherlock wrapped them both in his hand. Sherlock's eyes burned into John's as he bucked his hips in time with the earnest rhythm John's own desperation set. Their mouths collided in another fiercely hot kiss as John shouted into Sherlock and came hard. Sherlock not long after. Sherlock leaned back against the wall, gasping some at the coldness of it but allowing John to rest against his chest.

                                "I don't think I'll ever be prepared for this..." John whispered and Sherlock smirked.

                                "That's the idea." His hand ran through John's hair while the water slowly rinsed away the evidence of their blissful high.

                                "You don't owe me anything, love."

                                "I owe you the world and more, John Watson-Holmes." Sherlock whispered against his ear. "Because you gave me a heart not once, but twice."

                They remained in the shower for another ten minutes before Sherlock pried John out of the warm water and into some dry clothes. The two of them lay down and within minutes had fallen to sleep in the wide expanse of the bed. A short while after they fell asleep Hamish crawled up between them, both of them easily shifting in their slumber to make room for the little boy. And that was how Greg found them four hours later. He knocked softly and all three of them opened their sleepy eyes in confusion.

                                "'S going on?" John asked softly, sitting up. Greg smirked.

                                "Jacob's downstairs. A servant came with him from the main house and said Georgina required him to visit with you two before she gives him full safety."

                                "We'll be down in a moment." Sherlock grunted, sitting up himself.

                                "But I'm comfy." Hamish pouted and both Sherlock and John chuckled as Greg shut the door.

                                "You can stay here, love. We're just going to go downstairs to talk to John's cousin and then we'll come back." Sherlock offered but Hamish clung to John.

                                "No! I want to be with you." He demanded and John smirked.

                                "Alright love, but you stay quiet okay? This is very important and I know you like to ask questions but your Dads need you to not ask until we're finished." John asked softly.

                                "Okay." Hamish seemed content enough with the arrangement and he let John carry him as the two men straightened their hair and went downstairs.

                                "Hallo Johnny. Es tut mir leid, Sie zu stören. Georgie hat mich hierher geschickt mit dir über das, was ich weiß, sprechen." Jacob said from his seat on the couch. John nodded and he and Sherlock took a seat on the opposite couch, Greg sat at the table with Molly, both of whom were silent. "Wer sind sie?"

                                "Sie sind unsere Freunde." John replied softly and sighed. "Kannst du sprechen Englisch?"

                                "Ja aber es ist sicherer, wenn ich nicht." He seemed to plead softly.

                                "Ja, aber er muss in der Lage, dich verstehen sein." He smirked and pointed to the highly affronted Sherlock, who was pacing and looking absolutely livid. Not this again. John was tense and it bothered Sherlock that there was a sense of fear crawling into his own emotional pool and making him uncertain how to proceed.

                It was almost too much really for Sherlock in this moment. The disappointment in Hamish's face that morning, the fact that John had still been keeping something secret from him, and the fact that ever since this case had reopened John seemed on edge all seemed to point to some failing Sherlock had made. It reminded him that he'd never truly stopped to think about the consequences of his work. He never had. John's life had already been in danger countless times because of this and now here he was, afraid again. It made something inside his chest want to claw its' way free, his eyes carefully focused on his husband as he tried to use his brain to think through the problem his heart was having. John would never ask Sherlock to give up his cases and Sherlock never intended to, but there had to be a way to keep working but make sure his family was safe. He sighed softly as his attention slowly came back into the room.

                                "Alright, fine I'll speak in English if it will help me get into Georgina's care faster." Jacob sighed and sat back. "What do you want to know?" His accent was thick even as he spoke the words in English and Sherlock sighed softly with contentment that he would at least be able to understand things this time. He would regain his edge and thus be able to protect his family better.

                                "Why did you come to Pendergrass Estate?" Sherlock asked and stood to pace. His attention only briefly sweeping over his family long enough to notice Hamish was sleeping again against John's chest.

                                "That's a boring and ordinary question. The answer isn't very helpful to what you do, Mr. Holmes. Perhaps you would prefer to ask the proper question?" Jacob said sternly crossing his legs and sitting back. Sherlock had the awareness to look miffed. "You want to know more about the history between the three families and the murders that have come to tear them apart. So I will have to start at the beginning." He cracked his neck.

                                "The beginning?" John asked softly, looking confused.

                                "Yes. I will try to make it short and to the point as we're all trying to work against time. This all boils down to a crime of hatred and I believe deep down misunderstood communications and the belief that what one person believes is the best for all. You two know by now that all of us belong to the Order of Serpents and Scepters. You also know that Sherlock was approached to join and declined membership. He was allowed to do so only because of his father's contributions. You, John, were never approached because your father has tarred your name and thus put a black mark against your family. Once you had proven yourself to be especially honorable and a worthy candidate for us you were inseparably bound to Sherlock and it was decided that his opinion on the Order would likely sway you from a positive impression of us. The Order minds their own business about the private lives of members, so long as whatever activities they choose to be a part of do not draw unwanted or ill fitting attention to the Order or the member themselves. Because of that it was of no important to the Order that James Pendergrass was gay, nor that his lover Uthur Argyle was a member of the chapter in Switzerland."

                                "James was gay?" Sherlock asked softly, furrowing his brow the way he always did when he was presented with something he'd missed.

                                "Yes. Georgina knew and she agreed to marry James because his family did not support his lifestyle. She didn't mind as long as she got to be with him and be comfortable. They loved each other dearly and had a good life together. Do not have any anger about that." Jacob scolded him.

                                "You misunderstand me." Sherlock said softly, trying to be polite. John smirked.

                                "So Uthur and James were together I don't understand how that leads to a murder." John focused to make him continue.

                                "Yes, they had been since university. They were both members of the same brotherhood and became close during their years there together. Their families were both very much of the old school of thought and would not have tolerated their sons to be together as partners. So instead James and Uthur found women who didn't mind playing pretend because they loved the men dearly as friends and were never without anything they could have wanted. They arranged everything neatly including how many children each would attempt to have and arranged the necessary fertility treatments to make it happen. Uthur and James were the best man in each other's weddings and were named God parents to each other's children. Their friendship  was an easy mask for the truth of their relationship and they took trips twice a year together in order to maintain their relationship. There was no issue until Marcus began to make trouble within the Order. He'd discovered that several of the younger Order members in the Swedish chapter were homosexual and he claimed it brought down the Order considerably to allow these people to remain in such openly unnatural relationships." John tensed, his hand clenching but he tried to remain soft so as not to disturb Hamish in his arms. "The biggest problem began when it was revealed that one of the women who was the same rank as Marcus, James, and Sherlock's father was dating a woman. She was married to a well respected shipping industrialist who knew about her behavior but Marcus brought a swift case against her and she was dismissed from the Order for being adulterous. Her husband did not testify in her defense so she was removed from the Order easily and Marcus moved into her position. He began trying to pass bylaws that would bring swifter punishment down on members found to be having relationships outside of their marriage, especially homosexual ones. He met with fierce resistance however from James and Holmes. In order to protect themselves James and Uthur became more secretive about their twice yearly trips and enlisted the aid of two friends, my father Joshua and Holmes to help them keep the trips under wraps. Marcus somehow found out about the twice yearly trips and grew suspicious of James behavior, especially when he approached James for assistance with his two children. He asked him to explain how he could make you two 'right' again, claiming that the both of you were tainted. He wasn't an overly religious man, Marcus, but he believed that homosexuality went against nature and it aggravated him to his very core to think his children might be that way. But James only told him to let you be who you wanted to be, who you felt you were. He said it was a new world and that love shouldn't be restricted, that you two should be nurtured. It angered Marcus to the point that he vowed to prove James was a detriment to the Order. But he couldn't cut off contact because of your mother and Georgina. You were so dear to James and he tried to help you at least find the truth of yourself and be alright with it. Marcus followed them on one of their trips and took pictures of Uthur greeting James as a lover would, which he then brought back and set down as a case to have them both removed from the Order. Georgina and Svetlana, Uthur's wife, both testified that they were aware of the behavior of their husbands and the tribunal found the men not guilty. They did however issue a command that the two men break off their relationship. The two men were heartbroken but they knew Marcus would be furious and come after them. They decided to risk continuing to see each other once a year with aid from my father and Holmes. It was easy to do really until Marcus discovered their trip again. He had someone hack into their financial records and was able to find the patterns that pointed to the trips. He also discovered that James invited Uthur to come here to visit him that summer so he used the trip you normally took here John as an excuse to come as well. The Order believes that Marcus intended to kill Uthur and thus 'save' James from his own wickedness, but instead that night he came across James himself. They fought, Marcus trying to convince James to abandon Uthur and give up his madness. The fight which the two of you saw." Jacob sat forward a bit, letting his feet come to rest on the floor. His attention fully on John.

                                "The Order knows about that?" John's voice was timid, not afraid but not masking his concern.

                                "Yes, they have the transcripts from the actual investigation. They have been involved in this investigation since the beginning but Marcus is too clever with the evidence for them to charge him formally. He accused the elder Holmes of the murder in the hopes it would force Uthur further away from the Order and to separate you two. When the Order last saw Marcus he was possessed of a manic desire to free his children from the clutches of James 'disease.' He has carefully executed every member of James' line and killed Uthur's only son Dominic."

                                "Dominic is Uthur's son?" Sherlock repeated.

                                "Yes. Elisa was his daughter." Jacob sighed. "But that is not the worse of what you have to know." He grunted and sat back. "You will not like this part, Johnny. I am afraid it may bring you to hate me though I have no blood on my hands." John looked up from where he was running his hands through Hamish's hair in surprise, Jacob sighed. "Harriet's death was his fault."

                                "What do you mean?" He tensed, Hamish grunting slightly as John unconsciously tightened his arms. Sherlock stopped pacing and looked directly at Jacob, fixing him with his most piercing stare.

                                "Uthur contacted me and offered me money to retaliate against Marcus and his family for the wrongs he'd committed in the name of the Order. I took the assignment but I told him that you and Harriet were not the same as Marcus. He told me to either find proof of that or to kill you both. Either way he would reward me. So I came to London for awhile and tracked you both. I easily wrote you off because you were with him." He nodded to Sherlock. "You would not have reunited with him if you were following Marcus' plans for you, though I was confused when you kept going out on dates with women. When I contacted Uthur he told me he was glad as he never wanted you to be a target because you were so beloved by James. He vowed in that moment to never harm the favorite nephew of his lover. So I was put on Harriet's trail. I followed her for two years, watching while you two helped her and she bore your son. I was convinced she was not following any plan Marcus might have lain out for her until she met him for dinner one night four months ago."

                                "WHAT?!" John looked livid and Hamish grunted.

                                "Easy," Sherlock whispered and put his hand on John's shoulder. John was almost vibrating under his touch.

                                "I don't believe she intended to meet with him at all, I think he surprised her when he showed up at the restaurant she went to. He told her that he'd found a man willing to marry her and make her very wealthy in the process, if she would turn away from you and from her girlfriend. She refused outright and he vowed he would not let her continue on the way she was. He had learned about Uthur's attempt to destroy his bloodline in retaliation for destroying his and James' and he decided that if that was how Uthur wanted to play then he would confront him first. Marcus wanted to set a war ablaze in the Order so he poisoned her using the Serpent's Claw. He deliberately used the Serpent's Claw for each of those murders." He saw Sherlock's look and sighed witheringly. "The Serpent's Claw is a talon shaped dagger type weapon. It has been the ceremonial weapon of choice for the Order for centuries. It is rarely used these days but when it is, it is done for a killing that is seen as purging the Order of some darkness believed to be creeping in via the member who is murdered." He looked up at John, seeing how tightly wound his face was. Sherlock was watching John closely as well.

                                "So Harry wasn't drunk, she was poisoned?" John asked quietly, his voice betraying his heart.

                                "She was dying before she was put in that car." Jacob nodded. Sherlock took Hamish from John just in time as John jumped up off the couch and started violently pacing, clenching and unclenching his fists. Hamish opened his eyes and looked up at Sherlock with wide, somewhat fearful eyes as he saw how upset John looked. Sherlock just held Hamish to him and didn't speak because he knew saying the wrong thing would be more harmful to John then trying to figure out what the right words were. Silence fell in the room for a few minutes before John finally worked up his nerve to speak.

                                "What about the note Jared left?" He asked with a hint of hopefulness in his voice. Sherlock understood, John didn't want to believe that his father murdered his own child. It made everything John knew about the world wrong.

                                "Jared found out about my contract with Uthur. Georgina was working with me to try to keep him safe, since he was the last of the bloodline. I came here to meet with her and arrange some security increases for both herself and Jared and he cornered me. Someone had sent him information revealing that I was working for Uthur and Jared was convinced I had a hand in Harriet's death. I swore to him that I was not involved but he did not believe me. When I made the mistake of telling him I was going back to London he decided he would beat me to it so he could warn you. He took the first train out that night and was on his way to you when Marcus found him just outside the train station. I'd urged him to stay here, I wish he would have listened to me." He sighed softly, looking remorseful. "My cousin thought he was helping you when he left you that note, but he was actually throwing you two off the trail just as Marcus hoped. When Marcus realized I was back in London and that I now intended to go to you Johnny, he started chasing me. He was determined that you should be kept in the dark about his involvement until he could get his hands on you. Georgina sent me a letter explaining the situation here and that she'd summoned you to come back to Pendergrass, I knew that she did it because she believed here you would be safely within the Orders protection while you solved the crimes, but she didn't realize that Marcus had followed you here." John stopped and he wrung his hands.

                                "So that was him..." John mumbled and Sherlock's attention snapped to him.

                                "You said you saw him." Jacob looked confused.

                                "I at least thought I did. When we were out on the grounds yesterday, I saw a shadow that looked to be about the right size and shape for his build when we were near the forest." John crossed his arms and Sherlock rounded on him, Hamish confused and sort of stuck in his arms.

                                "Why didn't you tell me?" Sherlock demanded, bearing down on John.

                                "It was dark and raining Sherlock, I couldn't be sure." John was tense enough, Sherlock could tell he would snap soon if he didn't relax. He backed off some and realized that if John was doubting his own eyes then his mind was clouded by other things. They would need to resolve those issues before they continued their investigations.

                                "I'll make some tea." Molly offered softly and moved into the kitchen. Her abrupt action disrupted Sherlock's thoughts and he was able to allow himself to relax a bit more, at least until Jacob spoke again.

                                "He's come for you John. He thinks that your history with women makes you easily swayed. He thinks he can save you from your 'wicked nature' and he intends to force you if you don't listen. He will hurt you if you're not careful." Jacob warned.

                                "But you won't?" John turned to face him, his trust wearing thin as fear got the better of him. Jacob smiled warmly.

                                "No. I told you, you're my family. I never wanted to hurt you or Harriet. I know how much you two suffered at the hands of that man. You told me about it every summer when you came to Germany. Besides even if I had doubts you wiped them away last night. When we met I could easily see that you were not fighting me because it was me, no you stopped as soon as you realized it was me. You were fighting to protect him," He nodded in Sherlock's directions. "You followed the family protocol just like we setup when we were younger. You spoke to me in German and you were concerned for my safety. You doctored my wounds just like you did when we were children and when you found me on that failed Order mission in Afghanistan. Since last night I have once again reported to Uthur that there is no need to bother you and that his vengeance can now only be completed on Marcus. I've resigned as his assassin."

                                "Do any members of the Order support Marcus?" Sherlock asked quietly as Molly handed John a cup of tea. Sherlock shifted Hamish from one arm to the other before Molly came over and took the boy from him with a sweet smile. Hamish snuggled against her and she walked over and sat down on the couch where John resumed his seat and sipped at his tea.

                John felt the edges of panic sweeping through his body. He heard Sherlock talking and the words were clear but he couldn't absorb them. Hamish and Sherlock were in danger, in danger from his father. Sherlock was once again at the edge of potentially being ripped from his life by those hands. Those hands that had hit in anger, beat because of intolerance, and tore at flesh because of hatred. Those hands that should have raised a boy to become a man and instead taught him to hide from everything that made him who he was. He shivered violently and just barely kept the tea cup from rattling against the plate. He set it down as Jacob answered Sherlock's question.

                                "A few, mostly the eldest members. Those who are remnants of a time gone by. They give him money to support his endeavors. Or they did until he started this all out war. Uthur successfully had Marcus removed from the Order when James was killed, he could never prove Marcus killed James but he did successfully prove that Marcus attempted to defraud Holmes by accusing him without evidence. That was enough to see Marcus removed from the order and the Watson name removed from the list of candidates. Marcus has gone further however and declared war on the Order by using the ceremonial killing ritual as his means of enacting vengeance against those he personally feels are in the wrong. His personal vendetta is not supported by the Order and they will reward anyone who can stop him handsomely. That is why they know what you two are doing and they have been keeping a close eye on you. They believe you two will finally end this old feud and be the ones to finally prune the tree of this rotting anger. I will help you if I can, but aside from what I have already told you I don't know how much use I'll be." He sighed a finger on his necklace.

                                "Marcus Watson is the one responsible for all six murders." Sherlock sighed. Well that was _boring_. Sherlock actually found himself disappointed in that. It had seemed so much more interesting when it looked like a larger family or Order feud. But he didn't have time to wallow in the triteness of it because Jacob snapped him right back to the reality of it.

                                "Yes and he'll be responsible for more if you don't keep an eye on yourselves." Jacob stood and sighed.

                                "You mean one of us." Sherlock said sternly, crossing his arms.

                                "Yes. Now if you don't mind I think I have told you everything I know and I would desperately like to shower and rest." Jacob looked exasperated and Sherlock nodded.

                                "Thank you Jacob, you have given me a lot to think about. I appreciate it." He motioned to the door.

                                "Johnny, walk out with me please? I'd like to speak with you alone." Jacob smiled softly as he asked but tensed some as both he and Sherlock watched John assume his mechanical motions.  

                                "Alright." John said quietly, his mind far from him. He set his cup down again, which was now cold and barely imbibed before standing straight up and walking with his usual military manner towards the front door. He didn't even bother to grab his coat, even though the rain was working itself into a fury.

                                "Johnny, bist du okay?" Jacob asked as they stepped out into breezeway in front of the door. He turned to look John full in the face and John was reminded of how protective Jacob had been during those summers in Germany.

                                "Nein, ich bin nicht okay. Min Sohn und mein Mann sind in Gefahr sind sie nicht?" He asked him, turning to look at him.

                                "Ja, ich fürchte, so." Jacob put his hand on his shoulder. "Und du bist auch."

                                "Ja, aber ich bin immer in Gefahr." John smiled slightly and Jacob laughed.

                                "Sie beide sind starke. Sie sind okay. Und Ich wede nicht zulassen, dass Ihr Sohn passieren. Ich schwöre es." Jacob's voice was earnest as he tried to reassure John. It was clear he cared a lot about John's well being.

                                "Danke, ich weiß." John nodded as a servant approached them carrying a large umbrella.

                                "Mrs. Pendergrass says you may return to the main house now, Mr. Pendergrass."

                                "Bis nachher, Johnny." Jacob wrapped his coat around himself and the servant opened an umbrella for him, leading him back to the house.

                                "Sie auch, Jacob." John's voice was quiet as his thoughts drifted.

                He stood outside for a long time just letting the wind and rain whip past him as he stared, his gaze focused on nothing specific. His mind was racing over everything he'd just learned, everything he'd believed since Harry died. She hadn't been drinking, she'd stayed true to her word until the end and he'd doubted her. He felt guilty and horrible. He could have protected her better, he was sure of it. His father had killed his own daughter. He couldn't even imagine the type of hatred that someone would have to possess in order to do something so despicable. How someone could bring a hand to harm their own child. He must have been gone for awhile because suddenly he was aware of a very concerned Sherlock beside him looking rather grim himself.

                                "You'll catch cold." Sherlock scolded him, draping his own coat around his husband's shoulders. John turned to face him but his eyes refused to focus.

                                "Sherlock..." John didn't know what he wanted to say. He wanted to find the right words to tell Sherlock that he was sorry for his father, that he was sorry about Harry, that it was all his fault, and that Sherlock should take Hamish and run as fast as they could. Sherlock simply pulled him into a hug, holding him tightly against himself.

                                "You're nothing like him and you never will be." He leaned his head down, nuzzling his nose into that sandy brown hair and inhaling that scent, that pureness that was only ever John. "We are not our fathers John, we are ourselves."

                                "You and Hamish should go home." His words were forced and quick as if he wasn't sure he'd actually say them without the hurry. "Actually you should go to Mycroft's."

                                "No, that's the worst thing we can do. You and I have to be near Hamish to protect him, we both know that Greg is wonderful but he is not the keenest watchman. Besides if I go you'll be alone and in danger." His voice actually trembled slightly, betraying the emotion that swept through him. John was always so selfless, always willing to be the sacrificial lamb in order to protect him. John was always so willing to shed tears, sweat, blood, and happiness just to keep Sherlock safe and happy. It pained him that no matter how hard he tried he couldn't do the same thing so easily. He couldn't be so selfless. He was not worthy of this man but the thought of not having him made him want to die.

                                "Sherlock if anything happens to either of you..." John pulled back and looked up to meet Sherlock's gaze, surprised by the intense emotion lurking in those amazing eyes.

                                "If we lose you, we'll never be okay." It was a childish thing to say but apparently it was the right thing because John caved. His body shrunk under the weight of the emotion that cracked him wide open once again.

                                "Why couldn't he have been happy with the children he had?" The tears fell as John leaned back into Sherlock's embrace letting the warmth of his arms shield him as he dissolved under the weight of the darkness around them, shaking sobs wracking his body.

 


	6. Man Overboard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A vicious storm has finally come, first in the form of a sickness and then in the form of a man with a score to settle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! I am terribly sorry for the delay on getting this chapter to you! It has been a very busy time with tests and the holiday (Thanksgiving, I'm in the US). I have finals in two weeks but I shall try to get the next chapter out to you soon! 
> 
> There is nothing really terribly fluffy or smutty in this chapter, but it's setting up some of the darker moments.

                John wasn't sure what had happened after Sherlock had come outside, all he knew was he woke several hours later snuggled in the bed upstairs with Hamish. When he opened his eyes he felt horrid. He'd cried too much and been outside too long without his coat. He could tell he was a bit warm and was sure he had a low grade fever, he'd likely caught a cold. He was about to sit up when Hamish mumbled something and Sherlock suddenly appeared beside the bed to check on them. He appeared so quickly that John almost shouted with surprise and Sherlock looked a bit sheepish. He ran a few fingers through Hamish's hair and the boy snuggled deeper into the blankets. John looked to Sherlock with a questioning look, and Sherlock easily supplied the answer.

                                "You're awful heavy, John." He chided, sinking down beside him on the bed and pulling John's wrist in his hand.

                                "What are you talking about?" John teased back, blushing some.

                                "You cried so hard you passed out, Greg and I had to carry you up here." John realized Sherlock was taking his pulse and looked even more confused. "You're catching a cold. You've had a fever since this morning but you didn't seem to be showing any signs of illness until after I brought you upstairs. In fact I think you and Hamish both may have it. Greg says Mycroft should be back next weekend so I'm going to stay here and care for the two of you until then, then I'll figure out how to proceed with the case alone if you're still feeling ill."

                                "That's a whole week of wasted time. I'm fine Sherlock." John went to sit up and grunted. A coughing fit wracking his body. Sherlock gave him a terse gaze, "Alright maybe I'm not fine." He conceded and lay back, propped up against the pillows.

                                "Molly went to get some medicine, she should be back in awhile." He reached up to brush John's hair off his forehead.

                                "Daddy is sick too?" Hamish grumbled from under the blanket, crawling up to cuddle closer to John.

                                "Yes, I am afraid both of you have gotten ill. You two shouldn't have fallen overboard!" Sherlock grinned as Hamish gave a weak laugh. He stood as Greg knocked on the door.

                                "Here's the tea. Is he sick?" Greg asked quietly. Not realizing John was awake.

                                "I think so yes. Thank you Greg. Let me know when Molly returns please."

                                "I will. I should let you know I'm heading back in with Molly on Monday. The Yard needs me to come in for a few days." He looked up and saw John, his face becoming full of concern. "I'll come back with Mycroft on Friday. Will you three be alright by yourselves?" John smirked and Sherlock blushed. The intended meaning behind the question was clear - would John and Hamish survive a week being ill with Sherlock relegated to nursing duty.

                                "Yes, I think we'll be just fine." John said softly.

                                "Daddy will take care of us!" Hamish promised. Greg chuckled.

                                "Yes I will." Sherlock said proudly and Greg just nodded.

                                "I'll send Molly up with the tea. Georgina sent one of her cooks over to make dinner when Jacob told her John might be ill. So dinner is at least taken care of. She's a sweet lady, Mrs. Pendergrass."

                                "Thank you Greg." Sherlock said again and shut the door. He prepared a cup of tea for John just how he liked it and brought it to him.

                John sipped it carefully and watched transfixed as Sherlock came over and extracted Hamish from the bed. He sat with him, helping him drink a cup of warm milk with honey. It was one of the most tender things John had ever seen Sherlock do and it simply made his heart melt all over again. He tried not to stare but to observe as Sherlock gently explained to Hamish what it was and showed him how to hold the cup himself. Though Sherlock never took his hands off Hamish's so he wouldn't drop the cup of hot liquid. He helped the boy sip the concoction and talked softly with him as Hamish told him that it did make his throat feel better. It only took about ten minutes but Hamish had drifted to sleep again in Sherlock's lap, one hand wrapped in his shirt. He stood and brought the boy back to bed where John was drifting in and out of sleep himself, gently placing the boy next to John and tucking them in. He kissed Hamish's forehead before giving John a kiss on the mouth.

                                "Rest my loves. I'll be right here." He promised and scooping up the case files he moved to sit at the table where he could observe the two of them over the files as needed.

                A few hours later there was a soft knock at the door. Molly appeared with Greg and a tray of food. They set down the food and Molly handed Sherlock a bag.

                                "I'm sorry," She said softly. "I didn't know which symptoms he was having so I had to get a few kinds. I talked to the Pharmacist and she said that a nasty cold has been going around here. So I got you some zinc lozenges and some immune strengthening drink powder to make sure you don't get it from them." She smiled.

                                "Thank you Molly. I appreciate this, I know you didn't come out here to run errands." He kissed her cheek and immediately pulled the boxed from the bags.

                                "We brought dinner up here for you three. We figured that if you didn't come back downstairs it meant you weren't abandoning your charges." Greg teased and Sherlock blushed a bit.

                                "I'll come down once they eat." He promised and Greg nodded.

                                "What's going on?" John asked softly, sitting up some. The room was darker than before, it must be late afternoon.

                                "There's some food here if you think you can eat." Sherlock whispered, walking over and checking John's temperature and pulse again.

                                "I'm fine Sherlock, it's just a cold..." John protested but he sneezed and sighed. He leaned back closing his eyes.

                                "I'm kind of hungry, Papa." Hamish said softly and let Sherlock take him over to the table. He set out the bowl of soup for Hamish and snuggled him closer. Hamish ate slowly, mostly using his fingers instead of his spoon.

                                "Be careful, 'Mish, it's hot." Sherlock chided softly.  John was half asleep but listened as Hamish and Sherlock spoke softly.

                                "Papa, what did you think of Daddy when you fi..first met?" Hamish asked quietly, playing with a piece of carrot.

                                "You want the story from Papa's point of view?" Sherlock chuckled quietly as Hamish nodded excitedly. "Okay, if you eat I'll tell you." He smirked as he felt John's attention fall on him, wanting to hear the story from the other point of view. "Well you see Captain John wasn't the only lonely little boy at Pendergrass manor that summer. The Pirate Prince had no friends, because all of the children at home made fun of him for his mind. Because he knew things about them and could remember everything he learned by storing it in his mind palace - they picked on him and called him a freak. It really hurt his feelings so instead of trying to make friends he stayed isolated and alone. So it was sort of frightening when, during little Sherlock's seventh summer in the world, Daddy Holmes or as you know him now the Evil King Izzod came to the Pirate Prince and told him they were going to meet with one of his friends the kindly King James. The Prince had met him before and really enjoyed being around him as King James was friendly and nice. He never called little Sherlock a freak and instead said he was a wonderful and smart boy. So the Pirate Prince got excited. But then King Izzod mentioned that another man, the General would be there as well with his little boy. Izzod told Prince Croft and Prince Erik not to be too friendly with the boy because the General was evil. So Erik was happy when they arrived at Pendergrass Estate before the other boy and his father. Prince Erik was sad though because his father, the Evil King, forced him into a smart little suit and out of his pirate gear. He yelled at him for the whole trip because he'd tried to wear those clothes instead of a nice respectable suit. It was only when King James came into the drawing room to join them for lunch that Izzod stopped yelling. He introduced the boys to James and James informed Izzod that another man they were friends with was in town visiting. Izzod became excited and said he wanted to take Croft to meet him, so the two departed immediately leaving Prince Erik with King James." Sherlock sighed softly, pulling a piece of carrot out of Hamish's fingers before he could smash it in his hair.

                _Little Sherlock sat sniffling at the table next to James as Izzod and a seventeen year old Mycroft, 'Prince Croft,' walked out the door of the manor and into the waiting car. Sherlock was cast aside as always. Neither of them even seemed to care. Sherlock knew deep down Mycroft disliked how their father treated his younger brother but he'd never stand up to him for it. That would cost him his father's affection. Their luggage had already been taken up the stairs and settled into their rooms. So the car was free for use, so James didn't try to stop them from going. No in fact he had bigger plans and honestly James didn't mind having the boy around. He missed his own sons terribly, though he knew they were having fun abroad with their cousins, and he also suspected a summer with Sherlock Holmes and John Watson at his estate would be memorable._

_"Why are you crying, Sherlock?" James asked kindly, offering him a biscuit._

_"It's nothing." Sherlock snapped quickly, trying to pretend he hadn't been crying._

_"Oh that's not true, you're upset. It's alright to be upset."_

_"No, emotion is a weakness." Sherlock spouted off and James' face tightened._

_"Where is your pirate gear? Your Dad told me that you wanted to be a pirate when you grow up. What is this suit?" James smiled softly as Sherlock's eyes lit up._

_"Daddy told me you had to have me in suit. So he made me wear this. Mummy snuck my gear into my luggage though." The boy said excitedly._

_"Good! I don't think you would want to meet my nephew in anything less than your best!" James laughed, but Sherlock suddenly felt quite nervous. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before James caught on. "What is it? You can ask me anything."_

_"What is your nephew like? Do you think he will like me?" Sherlock's voice was timid, betraying the deep sentiment and betrayal he felt from his peers._

_"I think he will think you are the most wonderful person he's ever met. He's like you, well not quite like you. Your mind is a rare thing and no one can quite match that, not even your brother. But don't you tell him I said that!" James teased and Sherlock smiled proudly. "He is extraordinary and rather unique amongst the people you might meet these days. You see his heart rivals your mind. He can pick up on emotion and the way people try to show or hide it much like you can see the truth in any situation. He is one of the most compassionate people I've ever met and he is only ten years old. He's always wanted to be a doctor and a soldier, so he's decided to be a military doctor when he grows up. He wants to take care of everyone he ever meets and because of that he has been hurt a lot. He is uncommonly kind, uncommonly loyal, and if I do say so myself he's quite handsome. But," James lowered his voice and drew Sherlock in, his tone saying he was about to reveal something secret. "You must remember that your eyes will tell you lies when you see him. They will tell you he's common and ordinary, but he's not. Only the person who stands beside him against the tide of the world will learn the truth inside of him. I am quite sure he will be here soon and he'll likely be dressed in his military uniform. Why don't you go put your Pirate gear on so you can meet him on equal footing, little Prince?"_

_Sherlock had raced up the stairs without hesitation and it took him three wrong turns to find the right room. He dumped over his bag in the middle of the floor until he found every last scrap of his pirate outfit. Brown cut off pants, an orange and green sash, an orange and green bandana, a plastic toy sword, an eye patch, and a stuffed parrot. He ripped off his suit, tearing the buttons off and shredding it as best he could before throwing it angrily in the garbage. He tussled his hair until the curls began wild and unruly again and tied the bandana around his head. He must have taken awhile because he heard his brother calling for him, obviously having returned._

_"Sherlock! Come down here now!" Mycroft's voice was stern. Sherlock wrenched open the doors and marched out, ignoring the look his brother gave him. "Where is your suit? Father..."_

_"I don't care, Mycroft!" Sherlock snapped and he rushed down the stairs._

_James was standing with Marcus whom immediately became an evil general to Sherlock. The man looked like rage personified and he was not even glancing down at his young son, who was standing shyly beside him. The boy had sandy brown hair that he kept in a short military style cut. He had a plastic box in his hands that held thirty or so army men. His little Captain's outfit was a rich green and made his eyes sparkle, but his shyness made him look dull. Sherlock came to rest beside his father and noticed immediately that his father did not approve of the man or the boy._

_"This is my nephew." James encouraged Sherlock, but Sherlock looked up at his father. His father simply gave a curt nod._

_"He looks ordinary and boring." Sherlock announced, trying to win his father's approval. The man simple sighed and turned and stalked off._

_It had been hard for Sherlock, watching how the little Captain's face fell but before he could say anything John had run out the door with his soldiers. Mycroft followed Daddy Holmes upstairs and the General stalked off, ignoring his son's plight completely. Only James remained and he knelt down in front of Sherlock, disappointment clear on his face._

_"Why did you say that?" He demanded softly._

_"I..." Sherlock looked away, his eyes glassing over._

_"Your father doesn't control you. He approves of starkness. Of not feeling and of being distant from everything and everyone, Sherlock. Meanness will only get you so far."_

_With that James had strode away, leaving Sherlock to face a choice. He hadn't even completely made his mind up yet when he rushed out the door, forgetting his shoes, and chased down the little Captain._

                                "You see, your Papa had been very mean but he really thought the boy was beautiful. He desperately wanted to know him better and when he found him and saw how he commanded his troops, your Papa knew he had to have this man in his life. He was very lucky that you Daddy wandered back into it so many years later." He smiled as he finished, finally looking down at Hamish.

                The boy smiled as Sherlock finished the story but he was almost completely asleep again. Sherlock sighed as he realized that Hamish now had carrot mashed into his hair. He looked over at John and saw that he was awake but looked utterly exhausted. Sherlock hoisted Hamish up and walked over to the door, opening it and walking to the landing.

                                "Greg, Molly?" He called and waited for them to answer. "Would one of you please come up here and help John eat so I can give Hamish a bath. He apparently decided wearing his soup was preferable to eating it." He heard both of them chuckle and then Greg came up the stairs.

                                "He's a right mess." Greg conceded and laughed as he pulled another carrot from Hamish's locks. "He asked you for a story didn't he?"

                                "Yes, he did. Clever boy." Sherlock smirked and strode into the bathroom, pleased to see John had pulled himself out of bed and moved to the table.

                                "You look like hell." Greg smirked as he sat down across from John.

                                "You've seen me worse." John's voice was scratchy.

                                "Yes I certainly have."

                Sherlock bathed Hamish and when he returned it was to find Greg laughing quietly at the fact John had fallen asleep on the table, barely having eaten any food. He settled Hamish in bed before shooing Greg out and waking John.

                                "Love, you can't sleep on the table. It'll hurt your back." Sherlock whispered, kneeling down beside him.

                                "What?" John snapped awake and Sherlock smiled. He helped him up and hugged him to himself, ignoring the flush of warmth.

                                "You're really not well. How long have you been sick and not telling me, John?" Sherlock whispered as John clumsily wrapped his arms around him.

                                "I've been..." A tongue click. "About a month." He sighed.

                                "Why do you still hide all of this from me?" His tone was hurt but it also betrayed annoyance.

                                "It's hard Sherlock. You've been busy with the cases and that last one, with the girl who could have died..."

                                "Losing you would be far harder on me than anything else." He whispered, nuzzling his nose into John's neck.

                                "I'm not dying, it's a cold." The response was mechanical and did little to soothe Sherlock's nerves.

                                "If you don't tell me about colds how can I believe you'll ever tell me about anything important? What about injuries?" His voice was tight and John felt his eyes sweep back up to meet them.

                                "I would never..."

                                "You would if you thought it would somehow help me.Now come on, you need to go back to bed." He tried to move him but John didn't budge.

                                "I don't want to." He said firmly, a grimace on his face.

                                "What's wrong? We both know resting will help you heal faster."

                                "Not sleeping well." He said dismissively and Sherlock's mouth tightened into a thin, demanding look. "Nightmares."

                                "I thought you'd stopped having them." John shivered slightly as Sherlock wrapped back around him, pushing his head against his shoulder. John let his nose gently touched the fabric of Sherlock's shirt, inhaling the scent of his lover.

                                "Being physically ill makes them come back. I didn't have to hide them this time because you haven't been sleeping." He sighed.

                                "You've been sick a lot over the last year. I think Hamish is sharing too many germs with you." Sherlock sighed softly.    

                                "No, I think I am just worn down from trying to keep pace with a man who always goes twice as fast." He smirked but it faded when he saw the worry on Sherlock's face. "Love, it's a cold..."

                                "You're afraid of something." He announced it the way he always did when he deduced something.

                                "I am not."

                                "You are, what is it?" Sherlock demanded.

                                "Something is coming, I don't know what it is but I know it's bad. Jacob's warning has been eating away at me." He whispered.

                                "I'll protect you two." He promised.

                                "I'm worried about you, you daft bastard." John gripped his shoulders tightly, clinging to him. "If anyone hurts you..."

                                "John, let the ghosts of the past go." His voice was soft, he pressed John more tightly against himself, one hand slipping up to cradle his head. "We'll be okay. If anyone attacks us we'll be okay. I promise..."

                John and Hamish both proceeded to get worse over the next few days and by the time Greg and Molly were leaving they were both knee deep in their illness. Hamish however rebounded quickly and by Tuesday morning he was feeling completely healed. John on the other hand was still violently ill. It turned out that John actually had the flu, not a cold and he required almost the entire rest of the week to even begin to feel better. He finally was able to pry himself out of bed on Friday morning, only to find that Mycroft and Greg had returned.

                                "Mycroft, will you join me this evening?" Sherlock asked him, the three men sitting around the table as John descended the stairs. Hamish was on the couch watching some television show.

                                "Ah, I take it John is still ill then?" Mycroft countered. "Yes, then I shall. It will be interesting to meet other members of the Order. Do tell me you packed a suit."

                                "I can tell you that all I want but I don't know what John packed for me." Sherlock smirked as he looked up. "Speaking of," He moved over to John but John brushed him away. He sat down at the table and didn't complain as Sherlock fussed over making him a cup of tea and checking he was warm enough.

                                "He has a suit." John said by way of a greeting, his throat still a bit rough.

                                "Poor thing, I take it that wasn't a cold then." Greg smirked.

                                "Flu." Sherlock corrected him and hovered.

                                "Sit down Sherlock, you're making me dizzy. What do you need a suit for anyway?"

                                "Georgina is throwing a party for the Order this evening. She invited us and told me to bring Mycroft if you couldn't make it." Sherlock said strolling over and throwing himself down over the couch.

                                "I'm going to go check in with Georgina and be sure she doesn't require anything else of us before the party. Greg I'll let you relax a bit here, shall I?"

                                "Thanks love." He smiled as Mycroft strode out of the house.

                                "How was London?" John asked quietly.

                                "Same as it was when we left. There's been one or two interesting cases but I'm not allowed to see them until I'm finished with this mess." He shrugged. He looked over and noticed that Hamish had drifted off to sleep and that Sherlock's eyes were closed, his body relaxed. Sherlock must have been going stir crazy the last few days. He smiled softly at John who shook his head slightly.

                                "Well I'm glad you're back." John smirked.

                                "Yea I bet you are. You two have been a right mess haven't you?" He nodded to Sherlock who was draped over the couch and seemed to be asleep. "Has he been a terror?"

                                "They both have." John motioned to Hamish who had fallen asleep with one leg hanging off the couch. "They haven't slept in two days."

                                "Why hasn't Hamish slept?" Greg looked confused.

                                "He gets too wound up, the two of them feed off each other. If Sherlock is on a case it only takes two days before Hamish starts to follow him around brooding and grumpy just like he is. I think it's because he wants Sherlock's attention but he is too young for me to explain the whole mind palace thing." He sighed. "With me being sick there hasn't been anyone to keep the two of them entertained and the rain only let up last night. So the two of them have been in a right state."

                                "It must be so weird to see a little Sherlock every day." He laughed.

                                "We'll see in a few years, then I'll have a true comparison." John laughed too.

                                "What was he like that summer?" They sat back in the chairs, getting comfortable. John felt comfortable, considering he hadn't been out of bed for more than two hours in three days.

                                "He was a bit different then. He didn't balk as much at emotion, well not once we'd been friends for a few weeks. I think he didn't get the same sort of affection most children do and I think it molded how he looked at sentiment. I know his father wasn't excessively friendly with Uncle James or my father. Mycroft is sort of an example of the upbringing they received. He made no effort to get to know me at all that summer even though Sherlock and I were clearly becoming best friends. You know," John paused looking thoughtful. "I have to wonder if that summer is the reason Mycroft is so overly protective of him. If Sherlock felt even half as horrible as I did even years later, I can understand it a lot better."

                                "What actually happened? How come you two lost touch?" Greg asked with rapt attention. "I mean it sounds like you two were very close..."

                                "Because our fathers went to war basically." John paused and closed his eyes as the memory came back. "The afternoon after James was killed we'd both snuck out of our wings of the house and met in the drawing room. We were planning to run away because we weren't going to be allowed to be friends anymore. We overheard an argument downstairs and we crept out to the railing to listen. Our dads were shouting. My dad said that the only clear evidence was that Daddy Holmes had killed my Uncle. He screamed and screamed about it while Daddy Holmes simply screamed back that he had been up late with Mycroft and then asleep so his whereabouts were accounted for while the house staff couldn't account for my Dad's. Mycroft snuck up on us while we weren't paying attention and yanked us up by our collars before taking us in the drawing room. He'd just put together that we'd been out on the grounds the night before and he demanded to know what we saw. We told him everything about the man we saw attack Uncle James and he promptly paraded down and told his father we'd witnessed something. We were questioned by the police first together and then individually, but they didn't believe us at all. They tried to say we were lying and we were both rather upset because we knew if they didn't believe us we wouldn't get to stay friends. Dad interrupted the interview I had because I was describing the man who killed my Uncle and I didn't realize it then but I was describing my father. He locked me in my room and told me I was never to speak to Erik again. The next morning the Holmes started making preparations to leave. I shot out the tire of the car and tried to do a bunch of things to delay them leaving but it became clear it was rather inevitable. Mycroft guarded Sherlock's room like a watch dog so there was no way we could talk to each other. So the night before they were supposed to leave I snuck out of the house. I had decided I would go find clues to prove who committed the murder, but a torrential rain blew up and I got stranded near the gardener's cottage under this huge rock. Luckily the storm also kept the Holmes men from leaving because it was bad. One of the worst storms in years. I think I was gone for about a day and a half before anyone even noticed and Georgina was very worried. She seemed to have pieced together that I had been gone longer than just the next morning when I didn't show up to breakfast and in her panic she let it slip to Mycroft that I was missing. Sherlock overheard him telling his father and came to find me. He forced me to take his rain coat so we could walk back to the house and because of it he caught an awful cold. His family was forced to remain a week to wait for him to get better." He sighed, a tear in the corner of his eye.

                                "No wonder he is so horrible to people." Greg whispered softly, putting his hand on the table. "I know how bad I would feel about that, I can't imagine how it went for him."

                                "It was the second hardest thing I have ever done." Sherlock's voice startled both of them as he sat straight up and they dissolved into giggles.

                Just before dark descended on the estate Mycroft came to retrieve Sherlock for the party. Sherlock gave John many reassurances that he would be back soon, kissing both him and Hamish many times before he left. Georgina was happy to have the two Holmes men there at the party and insisted she take them around. They were introduced to many people, several of whom were wearing various forms of the snake necklace. Just before ten o'clock Sherlock got a strange feeling that something was not right and he began to get very anxious. Mycroft however was charming information out of one of the older men who were members of the Order.

_Someone's broken into the house, Hamish and I are locked upstairs. Couldn't find John. GL_

                Sherlock's entire body went rigid and Mycroft's attention snapped to him in just that moment, but he took off out the door. Mycroft excused himself and was right behind his brother. They immediately began to jog towards the house, slipping slightly in the still slick grass as they did. Sherlock's eyes could see that the door to the house was kicked in and as soon as he saw it panic bloomed in his stomach and his gut instincts told him things were bad, very bad. As if to confirm that deduction his phone rang, it was Greg. Sherlock hit the call button as he broke into a full run.

                                "Sherlock," Greg coughed. "He took them... Took them both." Then there was silence.

                Sherlock almost stopped dead at the front door of the guest house when he saw the doors. He looked down and saw tire tracks hastily made and headed away from the house and out of the gate. He just saw the black car slip out of the gate and disappear, fear sinking in his heart as it did. He ran into the house and immediately groaned.

                                "Greg?!" He shouted and a slight grunt let him know Greg was off to the side behind the couch. He had a nasty bump on his head.

                                "Greg!" Mycroft demanded, following in behind his brother. He moved over and started to check over Greg's wounds.

                                "Sher..." He started, trying to stand. "He took Hamish..."

                                "Stop it you might have a concussion." Sherlock flipped out his phone and dialed Georgina demanding medical assistance.

                                "He took them both." Greg forced out.

                                "He who?" Mycroft asked softly, trying to stop Greg from moving.

                                "John's dad."

                Greg grunted as the medical team arrived and helped him up. They started treating his wounds as Mycroft and Sherlock swept around the house searching for clues. After about twenty minutes the two brothers reconvened at the make shift medical station, Mycroft's mouth tightened in a thin line.

                                "What injuries does he have?" Mycroft demanded but the medic just shook her head.

                                "He'll be alright Mr. Holmes." The medic said softly as Greg sat up on the couch. Georgina already had three of her staff there fixing the door. "He just needs some rest."

                                "Greg what happened?" Sherlock asked as gently as he could, despite the fact that he was murderous.

                                "Hamish and I had settled down in his room to watch a movie so John could get some sleep. Just about ten minutes in I heard a loud crash. I heard John shouting at someone and I realized he was trying to convince someone that he was alone in the house. I figured that meant trouble so I picked Hamish up and took him down to one of the unused rooms and we locked ourselves in a closet. It took them about an hour but they found us and they hauled us out. One of the men pinned my arms in place and they took Hamish away from me. He screamed and screamed, trying to bite and kick at them. Eventually one of the men gave him an injection of something, I think a sedative. John came flying down the stairs in a rage when he saw that, he managed to take out two of the guys before this big tall man walked up and backhanded him so hard I thought his head might come off. He started cursing him out, shouting about how he was going to cure him. John was just revving up to fight the man when the guy behind him pistol whipped him in the back of the head and he went down in a heap. Then the idiot with the gun on me hit me with the butt of his gun and they hauled John and Hamish out of the house."

                                "How do you know who it was?" Sherlock's questions came quickly and were sharp as daggers. Greg shivered slightly but was comforted by the slight pressure of Mycroft's hand on his arm.

                                "He told me who he was. He said he was taking his son and grandson to 'set things right' and that he was going to make sure they were protected from their evil sins." Greg grunted and coughed slightly. "I'm sorry..."

                                "It's not your fault Greg." Sherlock said softly but he stood. "NO ONE MOVE!" He shouted and everyone froze.

\- Foot prints indicated there were at least six men. One of them had the same limp they'd seen at Jared's murder. - _Older Watson was the murderer for all of the Pendergrass cases_.

\- The tire tracks indicated a car slightly bigger than a normal sedan but not quite a limo. _All paid to do their job_.

\- There was a small spatter of John's blood near the door but no other signs of struggle. _Not aiming to injure them but to take them hostage._

                So they had time, good. Sherlock tensed and moved to say something else when the man Mycroft had been speaking with at the party strode in through the door with Georgina and Jacob behind him.

                                "I think I know where he took them." The man said softly.

                                "Lord Argyle?" Mycroft said softly, furrowing his brow. Sherlock's eyebrow rose and the man nodded as he accepted Sherlock's realization.

                                "Why would you tell me?" Sherlock demanded softly, his mind racing around like mad.

                                "Because Marcus Watson has been a determent to our organization for too long and this time he has gone too far. Attacking a child. He has been staying in one of the orders older safe houses. Jacob knows where it is and he will go with you. Because John Watson was the most beloved nephew of my late lover James Pendergrass and I will not let the evil inside of his father consume him or your son."

                                "Why should I trust either of you?" He demanded, his voice oozing with anger.

                                "Because I have a score to settle and John is not part of it." Jacob growled.

                                "Then good." Sherlock's voice was deadly low. "We have men overboard and we're going to rescue them."

 

 

                


	7. Hate and Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hatred of one man may be enough to bring the world crashing to a halt for John and Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can thank insomnia for getting this chapter to you so quickly! I have a couple more chapters left for this story to sort of wrap things up (there are still a few loose ends). So stay tuned!

                John grunted awake his head felt like it was split in two pieces. His vision swam in front of his eyes for a few minutes as he tried to recall what had happened. Right, someone had drugged Hamish and hit in him the back of the head. No, not just any someone had hurt him and his son, no his God forsaken _father_ had _._ He slowly sat up, thankful to be able to move, but his head gave a painful throb. There was a soft noise from beside him, the sound of a tiny sob and a sniffle.

                                "D-Daddy?" Hamish sniffled softly and John forced his mind into submission.

                They were in a large room made of some sort of smooth stone and illuminated with a golden glow from several lighting fixtures around the room. The entire room was underground and there was only one entrance set far against the wall opposite the area he was in. He and Hamish were alone and trapped in what looked like a large cage, the only furnishing was a bed built into the wall where Hamish was lying shivering. John was on the floor and his back gave a painful ache. His wedding ring, pistol, and cell phone were missing. Hamish looked to be okay, no injuries or bleeding that John could see which was a relief. John himself seemed to only have the bump on the head and one black eye. He struggled to remain sturdy on his feet, trying to show strength in front of the obviously terrified little boy.

                                "Hamish, are you okay?" John asked softly and Hamish sniffled.

                                "I don't feel good. I feel… Wrong." He gave another frightened sniffle and John forced himself to walk over and pick him up, cradling him close.

                                "Sh, love, it'll be okay, Daddy’s got you. Your Dad will come save us and I won't let them hurt you anymore." He could tell Hamish had not been struck but judging from his eyes he'd either been chloroformed or given a sedative. A bit too much judging by how much he was shaking. John stripped the sheet off the bed and wrapped Hamish in it, holding him close. Hamish snuggled as close as he could to him, clutching tightly to John’s torn shirt.

                Footsteps approached and every inch of John went rigid as he looked up at the man who came to rest in front of the cage. He was taller than John with dark brown hair and the same piercing eyes that John bore. He was wearing a crisp suit that looked like it didn’t belong on him, his body strong and muscular. The man's gaze was full of hatred, loathing, and anger. The man stood there staring at John for a long time. He simply watched him for a good two minutes before speaking. The rage passing between the two men made Hamish tremble and he clung to John with as much strength as he could manage.

                                "You're awake." The man snapped. "Good, now you know your situation."

                                "You're sick you God damned bastard!" John shouted back at him. "Hurting a child, and all for what? Your stupid hatred?!" Hamish whimpered at John's anger.

                                "I didn't hurt him, but he wasn't exactly cooperating. You wouldn't have either." Marcus Watson exclaimed. "I'm protecting you."

                                "Protecting me!? From what? You have never protected me and you have never been a father!" John shouted keeping Hamish protectively in his arms.

                                "From many things John, from the man sent to murder you and from yourself mostly."

                                “The only threat to me and my family is from you!” John retorted.

                                “I’m not going to hurt you two. I don’t want to do that. I want to save you John. I want to protect you from yourself. You don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t understand what you’re doing to yourself and now to that boy.” Marcus was trying to reason with him but anger was apparent in every line of both of their bodies.

                                "Where is my husband?!" He demanded, not sure if Sherlock had been harmed.

                                "He is where he belongs, left behind. Forget him. You're never going to see him again." Marcus growled and stepped close to the cage. "I've arranged it all. A new identity for both of you and beautiful woman to be your bride, you'll be happy."

                                "I ALREADY AM HAPPY!" Hamish whimpered and John tried to quell his rage. "I love him; he is the person I chose to marry. Just because you can't accept..."

                                "It's wrong!" Marcus shouted back and he would have come in the cage to strike John if John hadn't been holding the child. "Men and women belong with each other. I tried to warn your sister but it got her..."

                                "Did you hurt her?!" John demanded in a deathly tone. Hamish clung to John, burying his face in his chest.

                                "No. He did. The one who was going to murder you," Marcus had the decency to at least look upset at John's suggestion.

                                “Jacob never intended to hurt either of us. The only reason we’ve been hurt is because of you. This is so stupid why are you so against this?! We’re your children for Gods’ sake!”

                                “My children would not go against the law of nature!” Marcus spat angrily. “You stopped being mine when you chose to defile yourself by being with him. Why John? Why did you give up the beautiful women you had in your life? That last woman, Mary…”

                                “Don’t even start. I didn’t love anyone else the way I love him! It’s not about a man and a man or a man and a woman! It’s about who I’m attracted to and whom I love! I love him!” Hamish was whimpering softly and John rocked him gently.

                                “Why do you even love him? Do you even know? It’s because he’s…”

                                “Don’t you DARE say anything about that man!” John growled and his voice was dangerous. Marcus sighed.

                                “It doesn’t matter; you’ll never see him again. I’m taking you away. I’ve arranged it all. You’d better say your goodbyes. Your son won’t be coming with you.” Marcus grinned looking down at his phone.

                                "You have no idea what you've done, Marcus." John spat the word at him and he flinched. "You've brought a hell down on yourself you can never be prepared for. My husband is not a man you want to mess with. I hope you’ve made your peace."

                                "I'll murder him if he comes here, John. He'll never see you again. I'm going to fix this for you. You've always followed the wrong path, letting your soft Uncle influence you. I'm going to make this right, you'll be happier than you ever were with that man."

                                "Are you really that stupid? Why do you hate who I am?!" John was angry and hurt, his tone betraying him. He clutched Hamish as tightly as he could.

                                "This is not what nature intended! Man with man! Woman with woman! It's wrong! That's why I killed James! Because he brought shame to this Order! Just like that man you married! All of them tainted." He raged and his eyes were wild and unhinged. John tensed, clutching Hamish more protectively. "But I can fix you, even if I have to bleed it out of you."

                Marcus snapped his finger and two men appeared beside him. The door to the cage was unlocked and one of the men walked forward and tried to pry Hamish out of John's hands. But John wasn't having that. He fought with them and did well too, until one of them knocked him around the head again. Hamish was removed from his arms and given another sedative as John blacked out. When he woke next the first thing he noticed was tingling in his hands and feet. The second thing he noticed was that he was not in the cage with Hamish anyone and Hamish was out cold on the bed.

                                "You're so pathetic," Marcus voice growled near his ear. He was strung up on some sort of board, his hands and feet bound tighter than they should be. There were several small hooks pressed against his skin so that if he moved they would bury themselves in his flesh and cut at him.

                                "Why are you doing this?!" John demanded again, involuntarily twitching his leg. One of the hooks, just around his shin found its purchase in his skin. He shouted.

                                "Because you were better than this, John! You had your choice of women. You're pathetic just like James was. Giving up the women in your life and committing this crime against nature. Men were meant to be with women John. I didn't raise you to be like this!"

                                "People can be with whom they choose to be with!" John wanted to struggle, he wanted to break free and protect Hamish. "You're the one who’s wrong!" Marcus hit him again and John started to black out again.

                Jacob, Mycroft, Greg, and Sherlock sat silently in the back of the car as it made its' way to the manor Uthur had mentioned. Sherlock looked deadly and it made Greg very uncomfortable, but he seemed to be the only one who noticed. Jacob looked ready to go to war and Mycroft had been texting and making quiet phone calls for the last hour of the trip. None of them had spoken and yet all of them seemed to be on the same page as far as what was happening. Sherlock was bouncing his knee and twisting his wedding ring around and around on his finger, while Jacob simply remained calm and still. They arrived at the location and Mycroft was the first to sweep out of the car.

                                "Sherlock I need you to listen to me very closely right now, Hamish and John are in terrible danger from that man." Mycroft said softly, his voice dark. "I need to go in there before you even make your presence known. I can get Hamish out before any violence begins but in order to do that I need him to think you aren’t here. I need you to let me do this alone." His voice was stern, the two of them fighting an unspoken battle.

                                "Mycroft, my husband and son are in there…" Sherlock started towards the house but Mycroft grabbed him and shoved him hard into the car in an unexpected show of emotion. Greg raised a hand but didn’t make any other motion. He was not mad enough to try to get between the Holmes brothers when they were fighting.

                                "Sherlock you and John can fight. Hamish is just a baby! I can get him out of there before anything else happens. Let me do it!" His voice wasn't raised but it was serious and firm. His tone was almost pleading for Sherlock to let him do this. "You and Jacob can follow me in but do not reveal yourselves. You two should go along the top and take out the snipers first." Mycroft motioned to where the two men could slip in.

                                "Mycroft if this is..." Sherlock looked worried; he didn’t want to trust anyone but himself with saving his family. Trusting his brother to protect them was even worse. He would owe Mycroft something and he would lord it over them…

                                "Sherlock this is me we're talking about." Mycroft growled. "This is the life of my brother, my brother-in-law, and my nephew. Do not be an idiot; this isn’t some typical childish thing. Think Sherlock!"

                                "Can you two please just stop it. I’m nervous enough without the two of you at each others’ throats. They could be hurt!" Greg finally spoke; he was deeply unnerved by the intensity of the darkness in the two men's voices. Mycroft took a deep breath and straightened himself out. It was then Sherlock noted he was wearing his cufflinks, the ones he wore specifically for Order business. “Greg you are to address me as if you were just the Detective Inspector and not my husband. Do not betray any familiarity, it’s important.” Greg nodded softly.

                                "Alright Mycroft I’ll trust you this time, just help me get my husband and son out of there safe." Sherlock demanded his voice cracking slightly. Mycroft nodded and with that Sherlock instantly turned and stalked after Jacob. Jacob was already halfway to the entrance. Mycroft let Greg towards the building and sighed as they heart John shouting himself hoarse.

                                "Your son is fine, stop screaming!" Marcus yelled at John, punching him in the face yet again. John had a hook buried in his skin on each arm, both legs, and one on his chest. There was one at his throat over the artery and dangerously close to puncturing his skin. Marcus moved to hit him again but stopped as footsteps echoed and he turned.

                                "What a disgusting display of anger and lunacy." Mycroft said coolly, not meeting John's eyes. Greg was with him but looked confused and was standing distant. John’s eyes betrayed his shock and confusion.

                                "Ah finally you’ve arrived Mr. Holmes." Marcus smirked and stepped away from John. "I didn't ask you your opinion on how I discipline my son."

                                "No and I wasn't really offering it. I don’t dwell on the actions of those who serve a purpose. However you said you accepted my arrangement but it looks like you've given the boy another dose of sedative." His tone was deadly.

                                "He was screaming bloody murder, so it was necessary to do so.”

                                “Be that as it may Mr. Watson we had an arrangement. You’ve broken it; perhaps you fail to understand the seriousness before you?” Mycroft’s tone was very dark and John made a mental note that pissing Mycroft off was a very bad idea.

                                “How did you manage to keep your idiot brother away?" Marcus purred, pacing slightly.

                                "I told him our arrangement. He gets to keep his son if he gives up his husband." He continued on simply, not even looking at John. John tried to speak but his voice was caught in his throat.

                Above them Sherlock tensed, he'd just dropped one of the snipers and Mycroft's words fluttered to him. His heart panicked, Mycroft was bluffing wasn't he? Surely he didn't mean that. Surely the elder Holmes wasn’t that cruel… Fear and panic flooded John, desperation betraying itself in his eyes. There was no way this could be possible could it? Certainly Sherlock would never agree to that? Sherlock could see the reactions on John’s face clearly and it worried him. If John thought the wrong thing he might do something incredibly stupid. _Shit_. He moved quickly and downed the next sniper, noting that Jacob had taken down the other two. He had to get down and somehow convince John that this was all a bluff.

                                “Mr. Holmes?” Greg spoke, betraying his confusion. Relief flooded through John, if Greg was confused the it must be some sort of trick.

                                "Detective, take the boy outside. Take him to the car and I will join you shortly." Mycroft commanded darkly. Greg went to protest and Mycroft sneered. “Do not argue with me and do as I say!” He snapped coldly.

                                "Yes, Mr. Holmes." Greg said timidly and moved over, one of the guards unlocked the cage and Greg scooped Hamish up.

                Greg was holding Hamish closely and his body language confirmed with John that Hamish was not hurt just unconscious. He looked at John his eyes betraying emotion as he left the room. John was able to tell from Greg’s look that he didn’t know anything about this supposed arrangement that Mycroft was speaking of and from the tiny flick of Greg’s eyes upward he was able to deduce that Sherlock was actually somewhere close by. He sagged as he relaxed slightly; knowing that at least Hamish was now safe. Mycroft was speaking again but John couldn't quite hear what he was saying. After a few minutes Marcus was almost shouting again.

                                “What did you give the boy?” Mycroft asked angrily.

                                “A low dose sedative, standard medical issue,” Marcus snapped.

                                “You gave him too much. You could have seriously injured him, you idiot.”

                                "You have the boy our deal is done. Leave."

                                “Just what do you intend to do with John?” Mycroft demanded.

                                “It’s none of your business what I do with him.” He retorted.

                                “Actually it is, see if you intend to harm him I’ll have to cancel our arrangement. I cannot have you hurting him; it will damage my brother’s heart too significantly. He’ll come looking for you.” Mycroft’s tone was terse.

                                “He is my son; I can do whatever I want. If I kill him it’s none of your concern.” Mycroft went to say something else when Sherlock suddenly appeared in front of Marcus, leaping gracefully down and landing perfectly in front of him. "A trick?!" He growled and snapped but no sniper sights came.

                                "Surprised?" Sherlock grinned darkly. “Don’t be, you’re an easy man to follow even when my brother doesn’t lead the way.”  

                                "You're foul." Marcus snapped and he punched Sherlock hard. Sherlock faltered and tried to recover. "You tainted my boy. He was..."

                                "It's not a disease you imbecile!" Sherlock shouted. "Men and women love whomever they love. It's not something that's poison or evil or bad. If someone chooses to love men and women, or men, or women, or no one it is their choice! Your son is worthy of a far better father than you and he had it! In James Pendergrass!" Sherlock kicked Marcus hard in the stomach forcing him to his knees. Mycroft was frozen, not entirely sure how to intervene.

                                "I'll murder you right here in front of him." Marcus grinned. “Then your poor son will be all alone.” Marcus stood and moved over to John, grabbing a hand full of his hair. “Say goodbye to your _husband_.” He sneered.

                                “Sherlock…” John grunted, trying to warn him because Marcus was drawing a pistol as he turned back to face the detective.

                                “No goodbyes? Oh well, I guess regret will keep you then.” He turned fully back to Sherlock a pistol firmly in his hand and pointed at Sherlock. It was only at waist level when the sound of a sniper rifle punctuated the room.

                Marcus fell over shuddering as he did and Sherlock never noticed that he'd pulled the trigger. Instead he first saw pure fear and terror building in John’s face. He then felt fire bloom across his abdomen and looked up at John as John screamed his name and lurched forward, sinking the hook into his neck. Sherlock took a few shaking steps towards John, both of them reaching out for the other before he collapsed. The pain in his body was so much he felt like he was disconnected from it, watching himself from some other vantage point outside of it. Mycroft was shouting behind him and men with guns poured into the room. But neither of them heard anything he said, both of them watching in horror as their lover was bleeding out and their vision swam and faded to darkness.

                Loud beeping and stark white light greeted Sherlock when he finally opened his eyes sometime later. Everything hurt and he was strapped down to the hospital bed he was in. He slowly opened his eyes fully and looked around. His IV was in his left arm and he could see the edge of another bed to his right. John was lying in the bed beside him, the cord of an IV dangling on his right side. The needle nestled deep in the vein of his right arm. His eyes were closed peacefully though he had bruises all over his face, arms, and neck. He had large bandages around several parts of his arms and some sort of stabilization collar under his neck, but a large bandage was clear there as well. Likely covering the stitches holding the hook wounds closed. He was asleep and soundly from the look of it. A sigh of relief flooded through Sherlock’s body as he turned his attention briefly to himself. His abdomen was covered with thick bandages and he had stitches from just above the rise of his pelvic bone on the left to under his first rib. He noted with some panic that Hamish was nowhere to be seen; in fact the only other person in the room was... Mycroft. Mycroft stood and walked towards the bed, gently putting a hand on Sherlock’s leg.

                                "You're awake." Mycroft said softly, a faint smile on his lips, "Finally."

                                "How... Long?" Sherlock croaked as his voice felt scratchy. Mycroft loosened one of the restraints and handed him some water. He sipped it slowly.

                                "Two days."

                                "John?" He asked softly.

                                "Still out but will be fine. We almost lost both of you because of your foolish sentiment." Mycroft said it tersely but it was far softer than usual.

                                "Hamish?" He demanded, ignoring the comment.

                                "Is with Greg having breakfast in the cafeteria, honestly relax. He is fine. They gave him a little too much sedative but he is okay." Mycroft started to smile.

                                “What happened to me?” He tried to sit up but couldn’t.

                                “Marcus was going to shoot you; if Jacob had not fired when he did that bullet would have lodged in your chest instead of tearing through your muscles and missing your organs. But you won’t be getting up to anything to strenuous for awhile.”

                                “Where are we?”

                                “An Order medical facility near Pendergrass Estate, once you’re released you will be returning to the manor for continued home care. Don’t complain, Georgina has ordered it. She says you are to remain under her care until she is absolutely sure you are fit to return to a normal life. She’d had four servants hired specifically to attend to the guest house, she’s bought the three of you new clothes, and sent to London for your driver who has been given spacious accommodations in her servant’s quarters. I tried to explain to her that you two would be happier back home but she would hear none of it.” Sherlock went to complain but both of them jolted with alarm as John suddenly shouted.

                                "SHERLOCK!" He screamed trying to sit up and being forced back by the restraints on his arms. He coughed and sputtered before he began to realize where he was. The rush of energy leaving John drained as the pain rocketed through his body. He groaned softly.

                                "Jesus..." Sherlock muttered softly and John tried to turn to look at him. “I don’t need a heart attack on top of all of this, John.” He scolded but he was actually thankful for the noise, the confirmation that John was really okay.

                                "Sherlock?" He called weakly. Mycroft undid Sherlock's remaining restraints so he could reach over and grab John's hand. The two beds were directly next to each other, clearly to allow them to reach each other.

                                "I'm here love, easy..." Sherlock whispered reassuringly. John grabbed his hand as tightly as he could, grunting softly with pain.

                                "Oh God..." John's voice cracked as tears leaked free. Sherlock understood instantly that John had been locked in a nightmare of dread; one that told him Sherlock might not be alive. A memory of the last time they’d stretched their hands out to one another and only one of them went home. He could only imagine the intense emotion that had been trapped inside John’s heart and mind for two days."You're okay..." He whispered meekly.

                                "We both are." He replied, squeezing John's hand. "Hamish too,” He promised.

                John's breath was ragged and it hurt but he couldn't stop the fear that was still pumping through his body. His heart rate elevated causing his machine to ping loudly until a nurse came in to check them both over. John was trying to look unaffected but Sherlock could tell just from the feel of his hand that he was in a lot of pain. Sherlock had expected to be in more pain himself, but it seemed that they were doing a fine job with his medications. The nurse did some quick checks over Sherlock, including checking the state of his wound and applying a new clean bandage.

                                "Sherlock are you feeling any pain?" She asked quietly.

                                "No." He said quietly, his voice even and firm.

                                "Good. Don't move too much either of you. I know it's difficult to just lie there but the injuries you sustained were life threatening. Another few days and we should be able to get you up and around. If you can stay there Sherlock without moving too much you’ll heal much faster. Though you are going to need some physical therapy when were done." She started checking over John, noting how he winced when she touched him. "Your stitches are healing well. You'll be able to have them out of your arms and legs probably tomorrow. Let me just check your neck..." She whispered and John flinched as she removed the bandage. The wound was vicious and jagged. It made Sherlock's stomach jolt. It reminded him how easily he could have lost his husband. He tensed as that familiar panic welling up in his stomach and clawing at him because he absolutely could not do anything to continually watch John at this point. "I think they're going to have to do this one over again, but I think they can do it here in this room. I'll go speak with the doctor. Are you in any pain?"

                                "N-no." John grunted.

                                "John..." Sherlock scolded, John sighed.

                                "Yes." He looked down. “About a seven out of ten,” He added, feeling he might as well be honest.

                                "Alright, I'll let the doctor know so we can increase your morphine drip." The nurse nodded and stepped out of the room.

                                "Where's 'Mish?" John asked softly, sinking back against the bed in defeat.

                                “I sent him with Greg to get some breakfast. He’s been in a terrible state as you might expect. He woke shortly after Greg got him to the car and he fought Greg hard. In fact he accidentally gave Greg a black eye trying to get back inside to you two. There will never been any doubt in my mind that the world will know who his parents are.”

                                "Daddies!" Hamish said softly as he came in the room with Greg. He looked terrified.

                                "Hey buddy." John smiled weakly and a tear fell from Hamish's eyes.

                                "We're alright Hamish," Sherlock promised. "We just have to rest now." Greg picked Hamish up and held him over so he could give Sherlock a hug and a kiss before letting him settle down on John's good side.

                                "You were so brave Daddy..." Hamish whispered to John, snuggling against him. "I'm so…sorry they hu...hurt you."

                                "It's alright love," John promised. "I'm sorry they took you from me."

                                “You tried.” Hamish whispered reassuringly, his little hand balling up John’s hospital gown under his fingers.

                                “I love you, ‘Mish.” John whispered and Hamish murmured that he loved him too.

                                "What did Daddy do?" Sherlock asked Hamish, who was watching him from where he rested carefully on John.

                                "He... He fought the bad men." Hamish beamed proudly. “He kept me safe.”

                                "He's good at that." Sherlock smiled, a wave of tiredness washing over him. Hamish closed his eyes tiredly, falling to sleep against his father.

                                "You two bloody idiots," Greg chided his voice thick with emotion. "I like taking care of Hamish, but I don't want him that bad."

                                "Liar,” Sherlock teased and Greg smiled weakly.

                                "Mycroft you scared the hell out of me." John muttered and Mycroft smirked broadly.

                                "That was the idea. If Marcus believed I was simply stalling for time he would have killed you before I could stop him. He intended to torture you until he got you to accept his plan. Uthur and I have been working to convince Marcus that I was an ally for some time now. He believed that I disapproved of your relationship with my brother and intended Sherlock to be with Molly. That's why I had her come to stay for that entire weekend, knowing that Jacob was likely to show up there. Uthur suspected that he would kidnap you and Hamish and our goal was to protect Hamish no matter what.” Mycroft sighed, apparently sharing the same dislike of explaining the situation as Sherlock.

                                “Where is Jacob?” John asked quietly.

                                “He’s with Uthur clearing up the remaining parts of this horrendous issue.”

                                “What remaining parts?”

                                “Marcus Watson is dead from a sniper shot which needs to be cleared up before the police attempt to charge his killer. There is also the issue of closing the Orders’ investigation into this whole mess, the answers for which you two have provided. Ah yes, speaking of which you two have been issued a monetary reward from both the Order and the families of those involved..."

                                "What about Kevin, the other murder?" John asked suddenly, his addled brain struggling to keep up.

                                "Ah yes. Kevin was apparently a distraction, a hope on throwing the entire trail off. He is unrelated to the two families but was an Order member from Uthur’s chapter that made the mistake of attempting to flirt with Marcus at one of the regional meetings. His family has been informed. Georgina and Uthur have set up a fund for Hamish as repayment for the fact he was kidnapped and injured by Marcus.” John nodded, but he was having trouble keeping up.

                Mycroft fell silent as he watched Sherlock reach over and tighten his grip on John’s hand just as John began to fall asleep. Sherlock followed John shortly after and Mycroft and Greg remained only to keep a watchful eye on the three of them, concern evident on both of their faces.

 


	8. Amends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rest, recovery, and reunion are in order for the Watson-Holmes family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this story is almost over! What a ride. To be honest this chapter is actually the end of the plot but there is another full chapter and an epilogue to go! 
> 
> The next chapter will be smut and fluff while the epilogue will set up the Kid!Lock I will eventually write that will go back and explain everything that happened the summer the Pirate Prince and the Captain met.

                John and Sherlock passed in and out of groggy states of sleep and wakefulness for the next week, both of them recovering slowly from their injuries. Mycroft remained behind, letting Greg return to London and to work, while the husbands recovered. John recovered faster and it was to his great pleasure that he was able to finally get up and start moving around by the following weekend. Poor Hamish had been glued to their bedsides though it was clear all three were beginning to go stir crazy. Mycroft know he could not keep the two of them confined in the hospital much longer and the doctors finally reluctantly agreed to release them the following day.

                                "You two will be released and you're to go to Pendergrass Estate. Georgina has the guest manor repaired, secured, and ready to accommodate you two while you finish recovering. No cases, no complaints, and no danger." Mycroft said sternly as the four of them ate breakfast in the small private suite they'd been moved to.

                                "This sounds a lot like you're going back to London too." John's brow was furrowed with worry.

                                "I am, I don't have a choice." Mycroft sighed at John's face. "Don't worry, Georgina has arranged someone to come and help care for Hamish and Sherlock. Someone you will appreciate." Mycroft looked up as a woman hesitantly walked in the door.

                She was just a bit shorter than Georgina with unmistakable sandy brown hair and eyes that flashed slightly. She came in cautiously, reserved even as her eyes immediately moved to John and didn't leave him. Her face was tight with emotion but relief spread in her eyes and her mouth twitched into a slightly smile. John stood up and cautiously walked towards her, reaching out to gently touch her arm. Their movements were hesitant, which Sherlock registered as a sort of test. It was plain to see _who_ she was but Sherlock was surprised she'd come at all. She looked up into John's face both of them searching each other's eyes for a long time before speaking.

                                "Mum..." John whispered, his voice shaking.

                                "Johnny," She smiled. "I'm sorry I haven't come sooner..." She started but he cut her off.

                                "You've been here for three days. Erm... Sorry." John said softly, gaining a hum of approval from Sherlock as he did. Sherlock wanted him to explain but he decided not to for the moment, allowing his mother to retain her dignity.

                                "Yes well Mycroft called me and told me what your father did." She sighed and looked down. "How he was going to kill you and your husband. I'm so sorry Johnny. I should never have let him... I shouldn't have just let him treat you however he wanted to. I betrayed you by letting his hatred drive me away." A tear slipped down her cheek.

                                "Mummy, it's okay..." John's voice was tight and she smiled. Sherlock cleared his throat and groaned in pain, but John took the hint. "This is my husband, Sherlock..." He whispered, knowing it was not necessary but it was proper so he did it anyway. Sherlock simply inclined his head as he was still hooked up to an IV. "Sherlock this is my mother Elaine." She nodded.

                                "Yes and your beautiful son Hamish." She smiled broadly as Hamish sort of bowed from where he was eating his pancakes. She walked over and John gave her his vacated seat as he moved to take Sherlock's plate from him, sighing as he realized Sherlock had eaten about two mouthfuls of food. Sherlock just looked at him and shrugged.

                                "You're... You're my Grandma?" Hamish asked with a mouthful of pancake.

                                "Hamish..." Sherlock scolded gently. She waved Sherlock's scolding off and smiled at Hamish.

                                "I am. I'm sorry you got hurt by that mean man." She whispered, kneeling down to meet his eyes. "I owe you lots of presents!" She smiled wide as Hamish reached out and hugged her. Sherlock scoffed which might have hidden him saying 'sentiment' but smirked when John blushed a bit. John was checking Sherlock's IVs, his vitals, and his chart without paying attention to himself. Sherlock clicked his tongue which got John's attention.

                                "John sit down before you pass out again." John sighed as Sherlock gave him a stern look. Mycroft smirked slightly as John easily complied. Mycroft passed John a cup of tea and he took it with a nod.

                                "Georgina has everything ready for you. I will stay with you and help you care for Hamish and Sherlock so that you can continue to rest. Don't," She scolded when John went to protest. "I am more than happy to do this for you. I want to make up for lost time." Elaine moved over to Sherlock, taking his hand. "Harry told me how much you changed John's life but I never really knew the extent of how much you had changed it until recently. I'm glad he found you again and I'm glad you let him in." Sherlock blushed just a bit and smiled.

                                "I'm lucky he didn't give up on me." He said it dismissively, his attention focusing on the window. He wanted to get out of this sparse hospital and back home. Real home, not the Pendergrass estate but he was aware that was unlikely to happen.

                They spent most of the rest of that day catching up with Elaine before they were finally allowed to leave the hospital just after breakfast the next morning. The car ride was somewhat eventful as Sherlock had trouble every time the car hit a bump in the road and Hamish could not sit still. Once they finally arrived at the manor it was to find Georgina, Jacob, and Uthur waiting for them in the living room. Lunch was set on the table and two of the staff bustled about taking their luggage to their rooms and making sure they had everything they needed. Georgina jumped up and met them at the door surveying them as she did. Sherlock looked normal save his hand resting gently across his abdomen, clearly protecting the location of his wound. He was wearing a t-shirt under one of his button down shirts but the shirt was unbuttoned, likely because John wanted to make sure his stitched didn't bleed. John was wearing his normal button down under a jumper and black trousers. The only sign remaining of his struggle was the bandage on his neck. Hamish skipped around them, happy to be able to be noisy again.  

                                "I'm so glad you're alright." Georgina said softly, hugging them all in turn. "You've done it, you've finally solved this mess and put it to rest." She gently touched John's cheek. "My poor Johnny. The things that man's hate has done to you. James would be so proud of you my lovely nephew. I'll come by to check on you. Please call me if you need anything." John blushed and smiled as she kissed his cheek. She did likewise for Sherlock before sweeping out to the main house. John and Sherlock both moved to sit, Sherlock stretching out on one couch and John settling down on the other.

                                "John, I owe you a great deal of devotion and an apology." Uthur said quietly sitting down beside him. "I should have never second guessed your devotion. Jacob knew better than I and too often the hearts of the old do not listen to the truth of the young." Uthur smiled and John nodded his acceptance. "James told me when you were young that he saw great things for you and I can see now he wasn't wrong. Well he was but only in that you've become even more than he envisioned and I can give you no higher compliment than that. You have proven your bravery over and over since you came into this world - standing up for your sister, defending the ideals of our country in strange territories overseas, standing beside that incredibly brilliant man at the edge of a knife over and over... Yet even with all you have done that you knew Marcus was here and yet allowed yourself to be captured to bring him down is not something I would have expected." Sherlock's attention snapped up from where he'd been allowing himself to drift to sleep and fixated squarely on John. He'd missed that?

                                "Well the plan didn't involve Hamish and he was injured. So I don't think I deserve any credit for a bungled plan." John blushed because he realized Sherlock was staring at him.

                                "What?" The detective demanded as he slowly sat up, he was observing John - trying to deduce how John had hidden that plan from him. "You knew he was going to kidnap you?"

                                "Yes. That's why I didn't tell you he was here." John sighed. "I knew he was coming to try to reclaim me or whatever the hell..."

                                "Daddy swore!" Hamish giggled from his Elaine's arms.

                                "Whatever the _heck_ he wanted to call it..." Sherlock smirked but sighed, this ability to hide things was not a habit he'd wanted John to pick up. "I didn't want to worry you. I should have told you though, because you would have seen a way to keep Hamish safe." He sighed, looking down. "I would never have knowingly put 'Mish in danger." Sherlock sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, but Uthur cut them off.

                                "You've repaired an old wound, you two. And not just for me. The Order can now begin to rebuild its' image and protect the rights of its' members in new ways. I cannot express to you how vindicating it is to know that James' true murderer has been brought to justice. I think if he would be most pleased to know that it was the two of you that ended this mess. To know that his favorite nephew and the man that stole his heart before he even knew what it meant overcame so much to bring the past to a close. I can never repay you for what you've given me. You've avenged my heart, my children, and the children of my heart. If you ever need anything, anything at all please write to me John. James would be so proud of the men you've become." He sighed and Jacob smiled. "I am returning home to mourn my children and my lover. Perhaps you can come visit sometime." Uthur smiled and he stood, bowing curtly before walking out.

                                "John, du unglaublichen Mann." Jacob smirked, walking over from where he'd been standing in the doorway. "Danke für alles." He smirked as Sherlock clicked his tongue and looked upset. "I am glad that this nightmare is over. I am returning to Germany for awhile before I begin my next task for the Order. John you three should come to Germany sometime. I think Hamish would enjoy it like you used to." Jacob shook John's hand. "It was a pleasure to meet you Sherlock Holmes. If you ever hurt my cousin I will come for you." Sherlock smirked and reached out to shake his hand before he pat Hamish on the head. "Elaine." He inclined his head and stepped out.

                Uthur and Jacob got into a black car which drove in immediately toward the main gate. Finally it was just the Watson-Holmes family and the four of them relaxed considerably as they sat down to lunch. After lunch both John and Sherlock opted to take a nap while Hamish was still sleepy enough to take one himself. The three of them settling down in their room while Elaine busied herself with something downstairs. John woke first several hours later and came downstairs to find his mother working on a cross stitch pattern sitting on the couch in the living room. He stood still on the stairs for a moment taking in her presence. He found himself remembering how she'd been the one comfort at the end of that hurtful summer, how in her own way she did little things for him to try to soothe the wound that never really healed. It had been her that bought him the pirate themed book bag for school the next year, who bought him the stuffed rabbit named Erik that Hamish slept with every night now. John knew she'd not been the best when Marcus had begun his war against his children, but in her way she did try. She looked up, smiling as she realized he was there and motioned for him to join her.

                                "You've become quite a man, John." She said softly as he put his hand on hers, settling down beside her on the couch facing the stairs. "I don't think I'll ever understand how you grew to be such an incredible person with so much hatred around you. The things your father said and did to you and your sister were horrible. Some of the worst things I have ever heard a human utter. Yet here you are with a great husband and beautiful son. An acclaimed doctor, a detective in your own right, and a more loving father than I have ever known."  John blushed.

                                "Mum..."

                                "It's true. I heard you in that suite in the hospital. I came in when you two slept and watched how you were so lightly sleeping, ready to jump at a moment's notice if either of your loves were in discomfort or pain. You are a brilliant father."

                                "I wouldn't have 'Mish without Harry..." John looked down.

                                "She was proud of you, you know." John's attention snapped back up and she smiled. His face betrayed his confusion and she continued on softly. "She couldn't talk to you about it, she didn't know how to bridge the gap that had grown between the two of you. But when you took her in and she started getting clean she started calling me. She started trying to rebuild the bridges. Your father had basically abandoned me to chase the Pendergrass family, so I was free to finally make amends with her. We hadn't spoken that much since you lost Sherlock, when you thought he was dead." He furrowed his brow and she smiled again. "She called me because she wanted me to come to London after he 'died.' She screamed at me, telling me how much you needed support and you refused to accept it from her. I told her I couldn't do that, that the last thing I wanted was to force you to let me in. So instead I bought all of those idiot tabloids and read between the lines to find out how you were doing. Mycroft called me for the first time about two months after the incident at St. Bart's to ask me how he could help you. I was unfortunately at a loss for what he could do, but I encouraged him to help you get busy. That's when you got that position working at the new clinic. I was so happy when he came home to you, but I still couldn't bring myself to contact you... I was afraid you wouldn't want me in your life." She looked down with a sigh.

                                "I might have said that then, just like I did when I was seventeen..." He sighed himself. "But it's not true, Mum. I did want you in my life, I just wanted to be accepted for who I am."

                                "And you have every right to be." She squeezed his hand and saw his thoughts drifting. "Harry's death wasn't your fault John. We couldn't have known what your father would do."

                                "She never got to make amends with you..."

                                "Yes, she and I did." She chuckled a bit as the confused expression that deepened on his face. "When you and Sherlock took her in she made it a point to call me at least once a week to update me on her progress. Most of the time though she told me everything she could about you and how you were doing. The first thing she told me was that she was amazed at how easy you were with Sherlock." She leaned back as she spoke, keeping her hand in John's. "She told me she'd never seen two people who looked so much like they belonged together. To her it was like watching a perfect waltz, how you moved in sync with him. I think the worst moment for her was when she slipped up and you and Sherlock had the row that made him leave. She felt like she'd betrayed you. She couldn't believe that she had put you in a position where you would have had to choose between the two of them and she definitely didn't understand why you would choose her and not him. She told me how it broke you and I reminded her that she was the only family you had. That you had lost everything because of your father. I remember how much she cried as she told me how hurt you were, how much you were suffering. I wanted to come to you then, to be with you while you were in your darkest moment - but she told me that the mere suggestion of calling me made you angry. Then your father found out I was speaking to her and came home threatening to murder me if I didn't cut off contact." John gasped.

                                "How horrible." His words were almost a whisper.

                                "It was but he disappeared shortly after that. By then Sherlock and you had reunited and Harry told me how she'd convinced Sherlock to let her repay you two with a child. She was so proud to be able to bear you a son, to bring little Hamish into this world." John's eyes were glassed over and he looked down.

                                "I should have..."

                                "There was nothing you could have done John. She would be proud of you now, knowing you put this all to right. She was proud to be your sister, and I think at the end she might have even been proud to be my daughter. But I doubt it."

                                "It hurt you know..."

                                "I know. I don't ever expect you to forgive me. I only hope that we can build something new now that your father is gone and I can truly make up for how badly I let him injure your heart." She sighed and closed her eyes. "It's hard for me because I can still see you that summer. I can still see the tears on your cheeks, the hollowness in your eyes, and that gold key around your neck. How broken you were because of what your father did. I saw that look every night before I fell asleep. It was the same look you had in your eyes when your father tried to stop you from divorcing us and when I came to the hospital after you were injured. You were ready to just give up on everything, to just pass out of the world because there was nothing left for you in it. No person let alone a seven year old should experience that..."

                                "We can't change what happened Mum. Dad was set in his ways and they almost killed us all. I am just glad it's over and we can get back to the way things should be." There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs and John looked up with a wide smile.

                                "Daddy?" Hamish called from the stairs, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He had on one of John's shirts, the sleeves dragging on the floor.

                                "There's my boy." John smiled as Hamish came over and crawled in his lap, snuggling into his chest.

                                "Papa is still asleep." The little boy said pouting.

                                "Yes, but that's good. He needs to rest. I know you want him to be better already but you have to give him time to rest my little pirate. I'm sorry we can't play pirated again yet." Hamish snuggled closer to him, clinging to his shirt and looking at his Grandmother.

                                "It's okay, I know you have to get better first." He hummed happily as John ran his hands through his hair, snuggling him closer.

                                "He's very smart." She smiled, reaching over gently push one of his wavy locks back behind his ear.

                                "He's a lot like his father..." John said it automatically without missing a breath, but smirked as he was corrected.

                                "Except for his heart." Sherlock said groggily from the stairs. He had on his pajamas, a bathrobe, and had a sheet wrapped around himself. John moved to get up and help him sit down but he waved him off, moving to sit down himself. Hamish pouted and shifted into Elaine's lap, looking over his father's with his ever watchful stare.

                                "How are you feeling?" John asked quietly, moving over to him anyways and picking up his wrist to take his pulse.

                                "John, stop it." Sherlock scolded, annoyed. He yanked his wrist away from John and furrowed his brow. "I'm healing. I'm the same as I have been. Nothing is different or worse. Stop nagging me." He met John's eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry, I don't..."

                                "I know, of all people I know, Sherlock." He sighed.

                                "And yet you continue to do it." He turned his attention to Elaine and smiled. "I'm glad that you are here."

                                "You're just saying that because I give Hamish a reason to be distracted and you want me to tell you all about Johnny when he was younger." She grinned and he blushed just a bit. "It's alright. I've got the picture books ready upstairs." She teased and John laughed slightly.

                                "Grandma?" Hamish asked softly, reaching up to touch her cheek.

                                "Yes Hamish?" She replied, looking down at him.

                                "Do you think you'll come visit us back home sometime?" He looked eager but shy and she laughed.

                                "Of course I will. How else will I spoil you?" She grinned and he looked excited.

                                "Christ, Christmas is coming..." John said suddenly looking worried. Sherlock waved his hand.

                                "Already addressed. Mycroft and Greg should be back the week of." He closed his eyes and sighed.      

                                "It rather pains me to admit it but think we'd be lost without your brother." John said smirking as Sherlock tensed. He gave John a very Mycroft like stare and John chuckled softly.

                                "I'm afraid you may be right but don't say it to his face. It'll make him get that smug smirk he likes so much." He looked like he was thinking about something and John easily recognized him putting pieces together. He turned to look at Elaine and smirked. "You gave John the letter, not Georgina." She blushed a bit. "Even though I sent it here."

                                "Yes, I did. He was so upset, so when Georgina told me that a letter had come here for him I was convinced it had to be from you. But I also had to be sure you weren't sending him words that might break his heart all over again." She whispered, smiling as Sherlock easily shifted his legs so John could slide onto the couch beside him and put the detectives head in his lap. His hands immediately finding their way into those brunette locks. "I had not believed someone could find their true love as a child but the way his heart broke when Marcus told him there was absolutely no way he would ever allow him to contact you was immensely painful to witness. He didn't eat for a week." Sherlock chuckled as John blushed. "If I recall correctly he even tried to run away but the men at the train station wouldn't let him on the train."

                                "Daddy loves Papa a lot." Hamish hummed happily.

                                "Yes he does." Sherlock agreed and Hamish giggled.

                                "I tried to find out how I could get your father to relent Sherlock. I thought perhaps if at least your father would allow contact Georgina and I could arrange something. Your mother wrote to me once, informing me of the immense change that summer had wrought in you begging me to do something to get Marcus to relent but it was for naught. The Order was furious about Marcus' supposed purging and they refused to allow us to have any further contact with the Holmes. Marcus' hateful actions broke a bond that went back ages. It was a shame as your grandfathers were fast friends at University."

                                "They were?" John asked curiously, sitting up. She laughed as she noted the interest from both of them.

                                "Yes. The Order has been a part of both of our families for generations. They like to keep their members close. When it came down to it though the issue was that the Pendergrass and Holmes families were much closer. It didn't help that Marcus clearly didn't approve of James even when we were young. That caused the families to drift apart." She sighed and leaned back. "I think the two of you may have met once before that summer here but you were very young. Maybe you were one Sherlock..." She hummed the words a bit. "But it was very brief. Marcus was convinced that James somehow managed to poison John and Harry. He didn't understand that it was just who you were." She sighed.

                                "Mum, we went through this already. You're talking yourself in circles. I forgave you, I mean it." John put his hand on her arm before standing up. He gave Sherlock a gentle kiss over the arm of the couch, Sherlock leaning his head back to meet him.

                Sherlock was finally able to begin doing normal activity just in time for Christmas. Mycroft, Greg, Molly, and Mrs. Hudson joined them at the estate and the eight of them had a magnificent time. Sherlock announced his plans for taking his family on holiday - first a ten day trip for Hamish, John, and himself and then a five day long weekend trip with just John. Greg and Mycroft agreed to watch Hamish so the two of them could go and just before New Years the family finally returned to Baker Street. Sherlock had a case to attend to and so it wasn't until February that Sherlock  was finally able to take his family on their vacation to Disney World. Hamish had the time of his life and by the time they returned home he was absolutely obsessed with every Disney movie he could get his hands on, much to Sherlock's displeasure. But Sherlock knew what he'd really been looking forward to was now on the horizon. He'd waited almost two months and now he was finally going to have John _all to himself._ They dropped Hamish off at Mycroft's at some ungodly early hour on Thursday morning, much to the displeasure of Hamish, Mycroft and John. But Sherlock was nothing but secrets and smiles. He hadn't told John a word about where they were going and he'd only backed one small suitcase for the both of them.

                                "Where are we going Sherlock?" John demanded, he was grumpy.

                                "Don't worry about it John, it's all taken care of. Three hours and you'll have all the answers you need." He grinned as he lead the way onto the train.


	9. On Holiday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finally gets John to himself - the case is closed, Hamish is with the elder Holmes back in London, and he and his husband are in a cottage far away from any responsibility...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The entire purpose of this chapter is smut. SMUTTY SMUT SMUT! And shameless I might add. So if you don't want to read that, please skip this humble chapter. The epilogue will go up in the next day or so!

                John had complained the entire train ride but Sherlock had refused to give him any information, his focus remaining on getting there before his insides melted under the pure heat of the thoughts running through his head. He swept John eagerly out of the train and into the waiting rental car, still mum on their final arrival point. He drove them a short distance from the station into a rather rural town before stopping at a cottage. He made John wait in the car and returned a short while later with a key, a basket that looked to be full local food, and a small package that he tucked into his jacket pocket. John gave up protesting and instead pulled out his phone to text Greg and check on Hamish.

_The berk won't tell me where we're going, I have no idea where I am. If he murders me I expect you to arrest him. How is my son? JWH_

_John, you're on holiday. Stop pestering me. Hamish is the same as he was an hour ago. FINE. Enjoy your holiday. GLH_

                They arrived at the small cottage, which from the look of it was miles away from anyone else and Sherlock ushered John inside. John stood just inside the door way with his arms crossed until Sherlock finally stopped making trips to the car and locked the door. His attention fell again on the single black suitcase that Sherlock had brought along. It was their overnight bag, which meant it could successfully hold two changes of clothes each and half a suit case of whatever insane things Sherlock thought he needed.

                                "Why didn't you let _me_ pack?" John demanded sourly, but Sherlock just smirked.

                                "Because we would have been delayed for two extra days while you tried to decide which jumper makes you look the most fetching and packing enough clothing to hibernate the winter away." Sherlock snapped, teasing. He locked the doors and came back to rest in front of John, undressing him very visibly with his eyes.

                                "Sherlock, what can you possibly intend for us to do with only two changes of clothes?"

                                "Oh it's obvious isn't it?" Sherlock strode to him, nothing but heat in his eyes. John felt himself shiver in spite of the warmth brewing in his stomach. He easily felt himself melt into the control of Sherlock's gaze. "A cottage out in the middle of nowhere, no suitcase, and four days alone with only me..." The growl that accentuated the words melted John's mind and he was no longer able to think clearly.

                He barely had time to register the triumphant look on Sherlock's face before his jacket was forcibly ripped off his shoulders and thrown to the floor. He moved to protest but Sherlock's mouth claimed his with fire and sent his brain reeling yet again. Sherlock did not let him speak, instead kissing him until he could no longer even stand. He was only held up by the firmness of Sherlock's arm gripping him tightly around the waist. He whined and moaned into the kiss, feeling himself being pushed backwards - allowing Sherlock to guide him without protest. His knees hit the bed and he collapsed with a soft thump and an exhalation of air. Sherlock moved like lightning and something silver flashed in Sherlock's hands before John's clothes were cut away.

                                "A knife, Sherlock?" John grunted but Sherlock simply smirked. John sighed with displeasure but Sherlock kept smirking.

                                "You're the one who wears all these bloody layers. I don't have the patience for that right now, I have far too much else to worry about." John groaned as the air in the room seemed to evaporate and he found it hard to breath. "Don't worry I brought you a change of clothes to wear _home_." Sherlock climbed over John, kissing him and pushing him relentlessly forward towards the head of the bed.

                Sherlock's hands snaked up John's arms, pushing them over his head as he kissed and nipped at his lips. John felt the tingle in his stomach that meant danger was near but before he could respond he heard the click and felt the smooth metal encompassing his wrists. Sherlock swept away, leaving John whimpering for contact but unable to move because he was handcuffed to the headboard. Sherlock's smirk was purely indecent and made of quicksilver heat.

                                "You know this happens often enough without you doing it." John said trying to complain but really just desperate to have his way with his husband.

                                "You deserve this, you naughty boy." Sherlock smirked, unbuttoning his jacket slowly. He walked over to the table in the room, propping the black suit case up on it and unzipping it. He tossed his jacket to the side and then tossed a small black travel bag on the bed. "Now quit complaining or I shall think you don't want me to have my way with you."

                                "It's not that, it's just... You haven't hardly touched me since we got out of the hospital." He arched as Sherlock came back and gently ran his hands over his legs. "And now it's all secrets and handcuffs."

                                "That's because I wasn't physically able to touch you the way I wanted to for quite awhile after the hospital. The whole bullet through the abdomen situation really puts a damper on things." Sherlock was now slowly, painfully slowly unbuttoning his shirt, clicking his tongue as he explained things. "Then we were so busy with cases and Hamish that I simply didn't have the necessary time to worship you the way you deserve." The shirt finally fluttered to the floor as Sherlock set his and John's phone where they could be reached if absolutely necessary. "But I'm tired of waiting for this moment and I'm not going to let you tell me no or tell me that you should be the one in control. Not yet, not now." His words were tinged with some dark sentiment - annoyance or determination but John couldn't tell which because he was already so damned aroused by this. More than he should be. Sherlock was unhinged and it had taken all of his concentration to make it to this very moment, there was no way in hell John was breaking him out of it. "Keeping secrets... Lying to me..." Sherlock muttered, his eyes flashing as he slowly undid his trousers and slid them off. "Putting yourself in danger, yet again... This whole case has shown me that you are in need of some serious disciplining, my little Captain." John grunted with sheer arousal as Sherlock narrowed his eyes on him.

                                "Oh fuck..." Sherlock's mouth hitched into a wry smirk as he saw John react to his words.

                                "Do you like that idea, Captain? The idea of me punishing you for everything you've done wrong? Insubordination bears a heavy fine..." He purred, pulling something else out of the bag. It turned out to be his rope. He fussed around at the end of the bed and John felt pressure on his right ankle.

                                "Sherlock where did you even get those?" He growled as Sherlock restrained his ankles with what felt like the equivalent of fluffy dog collars. Sherlock didn't answer instead he simply stood up and looked over the effect of his work.

                                "Look at you," He purred with appreciation. "You have no idea what I'm going to do. You don't know if I'm going to fuck you senseless or walk out of the room and leave you in agony." He smirked again, the one sided smirk he got when he was being clever. "I have my resources John, now... Just what _should_ I do with you?" John was trying to deduce what Sherlock was planning which made Sherlock smile wider. "Oh, yes... How could I have forgotten?"

                John had enough time to register Sherlock coming towards him before that blue scarf wrapped around his eyes, cutting off his vision. He struggled a bit against the bindings but moaned as Sherlock pressed light, fluttering touches over his legs and stomach.

                                "Sher... Sherlock." John whimpered, struggling harder.

                                "I can't have you using that increasingly incredible mind of yours to find out what I'm going to do before I do it." Sherlock purred against his ear before backing away. "Now address me properly." Sherlock commanded and a smack echoed off the walls. John grunted and moaned as the sting of leather arced across his thigh. The riding crop. _Jesus..._

                                "What?" John panted, his mind still trying to catch up to the moment. Another smack, this time on the other leg that made him whimper and shout. "Master what are you doing!?" He demanded, tugging harder at the bonds.

                                "I told you, pet - punishing you for keeping secrets and lying. You never told me about your cousins," A smack, "That you know German," Another, "That you were teaching Hamish," the list went on for a few minutes and John's legs were red with welts and his cock ached. He was reduced to whimpers and groans, struggling so hard he was starting to feel the metal cut his wrists.

                                "Please Master, that hurts..." John whimpered and Sherlock chuckled lowly.

                                "That's the intention, Captain." John groaned loudly as he felt Sherlock rubbing soothing touches over his welts, but he was utterly unprepared for the feel of Sherlock's lips on his own when Sherlock finally reunited them. He pulled at the binds and whimpered as Sherlock tugged his hair and sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, gripping it with his teeth. "You have been the most utterly intoxicating addition to my life. Every time I think I know you inside and out you come up with something new..." There was a growl in his voice. "God damn you John Watson..." He grunted because the sheer lust in his own veins was almost too much. "Then you just let me cart you off to some unknown destination and let me tie you to the bed without so much as a whimper of protest... Why?"

                                "Because I trust you." John forced out.

                                "Wrong."

                                "Not wrong, but I wasn't done." He replied sternly. "And because I know that you have been going insane planning this out. For ten months you've been working on planning this exact moment. The only difference is that I gave you more incentive during our last case. You watched me studying the travel brochures when I thought we might go away for our anniversary and you picked the one that I kept coming back to. You rented the cottage several months ago and got Mycroft to promise to watch Hamish... Since then you purchased the rope, a new riding crop, the blindfold, four pairs of handcuffs, three new types of lubricant, and spent enough time on the internet watching questionable material to enhance your knowledge that you're lucky our son hasn't caught you." The huff of air that left Sherlock's lungs betrayed his pleasure.

                                "So you have been paying attention." He hummed against John's ear, tweaking his nipple rather hard. He grunted.

                                "You've also been studying and cataloguing my pain responses, to find the limits of my pain/pleasure threshold. Studying my reactions to the various ways you touch me, grab my hair, the way you claim me."

                                "Oh... If you keep going I'm going to have to abandon my little experiment." Sherlock's voice was husky and full of arousal against his ear. John could feel the heat burning off of him. "And I have four days to torment you. I don't want to waste myself in one go."

                                "Then why did you tie me up? Because both know that when I'm restrained you, _aren't_." John growled and managed to nip at Sherlock's jaw.

                                "Christ..." Sherlock grunted and he straddled John's chest, roughly holding his chin in his hand and trailing the end of the riding crop over his cheek. "You are a man of spirit, John Watson-Holmes..." His voice was thick and heady. "I think you'd better close your mouth before you get in over your head."

                Then he was gone. John strained his other senses, trying to hear or sense where Sherlock was in the room but he couldn't. The carpet muffled his footsteps and he'd removed everything that might make noise. John tensed, his body straining to prepare for the next thing but there was nothing. No indication of what might happen next. Sherlock smirked and gently ran the riding crop down John's sternum, listening to the purely indecent moan that came from his lips. It was followed almost immediately by a grunt and whimper as the leather snapped down close to his nipple. He was already wet, his cock aching for touch. Sherlock felt his own body begging for him to give in, to reunite their flesh - but he wanted to make John beg and right now John was still being the staunch soldier. Another smack and another deeply primal moan, brought John's words back.

                                "Sherlock...." He whimpered, "Please..."

                                "No." A smack again, this time on the arm.

                                "Master!" John grunted, his back arching off the bed.

                                "I'm listening, pet." Sherlock grinned, purring in his ear as he leaned down to nip at John's neck hard.

                                "Touch me, please! Please use me! I'm sorry! I'm sorry I didn't tell you!" He thrashed, tugging at the restraints.

                                "Like this?" He knew his smirk was easy to read in his voice as he slid his fingers over John's arm.

                                "No! Master, please touch..."

                                "Touch. What. John?" He grabbed a fistful of those sandy locks, tilting his head back so he could nip and suckle on his neck.

                                "Use me to pleasure yourself! Touch my cock, please, Master." John dissolved and just gave in. He was too desperate to feel Sherlock working him over.

                                "A needy pet, today..." Sherlock whispered and shifted slightly.

                He licked around the head of John's cock, paying special attention to the leaking tip. He hummed and moaned as John's hips betrayed him and tried to push Sherlock's mouth further down on him. He found his own need desperately crawling around in his chest. He stood up and opened the bag, finding the warming lubricant he'd bought and slicking some over his fingers. He started teasingly at first, just barely touching the tight clenching muscles of John's ass before relentlessly finger fucking him. John became a pool of moans and primal body movements, pleasing with every sound for Sherlock to take him. But Sherlock waited, resting his head on John's thigh as he watched his fingers sliding in and out of John's body.

                                "Sherlock, please!" John was almost sobbing with desire, his hips bucking down onto Sherlock's fingers as he stilled his movement. "I can't take it anymore, please!"

                Sherlock sighed in contentment, John was pulling awfully hard at the handcuffs and he wouldn't want to have to explain to a doctor why his wrists were so red... So he slicked lubricant over himself and slowly pushed his own aching cock deep into John. He held perfectly still as John's body shuddered around him, grunting and leaning down to kiss him. John pushed his hips up into Sherlock's, his body pleading for him to move as he used his kisses to keep Sherlock's lips on his own. Sherlock took the hint and started slamming into John. He went fast and hard, shaking the entire bed for several minutes before slowing down and moving so slowly it was almost torture for himself. Over and over he switched the tempo as he wrapped around John. The handcuffs came loose and John's arms were instantly around Sherlock, his hands in his hair pressing their mouths together. Sherlock however kept John pinned under him, not allowing him to move as he continued his movements, changing pace over and over again until John was quaking with need. He wanted to keep John like this, on edge and begging with every breath for release but he was too desperate for his own - so he speed up and pushed them both over the edge so hard he wasn't sure they hadn't blacked out.

                When his mind finally seemed to pull itself back together they were both laying on the bed, panting hard. John was utterly wrecked, staring at the ceiling and trying desperately to find rhythm for his breath. It didn't take long though and within five minutes the two of them were laughing, hard. Their breath was still uneven and ragged but the chuckles continued on until John finally rolled over to look at Sherlock, pushing his hair back off his head.

                                "You are incredibly ridiculous." John's voice was exhausted, contented, and still full of laughter.

                                "Why, because I can render you speechless for ten minutes?" The detective teased right back, smiling proudly as he looked over his work.

                                "I am honestly surprised you didn't shag me on the train, with that much pent up energy." John shifted, reaching down to undo the ankle cuffs.

                                "I didn't want to terrify the children on board." Sherlock laughed as John giggled again.

                                "Good thing we're in the middle of nowhere then." He yawned and stretched, hissing slightly.

                                "I brought the salve... It's in the bag." He half heartedly gestured.

                                "Eh, we can get it later..."

                But Sherlock was already up, remembering the little box. He grabbed the salve and the box, setting the box down where John could reach it. He gently applied the salve to the welts. He washed his hands and returned with a glass of water for them box, dragging John up to sitting position. He opened the box to reveal two gold chains with two small key shaped pendants on them. He blushed a bit as John took one.

                                "The old keys were so large, they were the keys of children." He whispered. "I thought we could wear these now, new keys to new unlocked memories." John cupped Sherlock's face and pulled him close for a kiss.

                                "My _sentimental_ Pirate King..." He whispered as their lips met.


	10. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home and then some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are my dears! At the end of this lovely story. I know some people don't like Parent!Lock so I am glad to have found a reader in you! This epilogue is really a short little tie in for the next fic: The Pirate Prince and His Captain, which I will start writing in the next few months. That story will be entirely Kid!Lock written from the perspective of the consulting husbands during their summer at Pendergrass Manor.
> 
> Thank you so much for coming on this journey with me!

                Sherlock and John returned from their holiday happy but thoroughly exhausted. They convinced Greg and Mycroft to watch Hamish for an extra day so they could rest and prepare the flat. When they arrived at Mycroft's to collect Hamish the boy was like a bullet, slamming into Sherlock's legs.

                                "Easy, 'Mish!" John scolded him, picking him up.

                                "Good holiday then?" Greg asked, chuckling as John blushed.

                                "Erm. Yea, pretty place..."  John said as firmly as he could.

                                "You didn't even see it did you?"

                                "Oh don't be a jerk." He shuffled his feet.

                                "We took several long walks and explored the area, actually." Sherlock said it firmly, only the hint of a smirk on his face. Greg blushed.

                                "Oh all right, that's enough of that!" He laughed.

                                "Was Hamish a good boy?" John asked both Greg and Hamish, Hamish giggled.

                                "He was fine. It didn't help that he knew you were texting us every time you got a moment." Greg crossed his arms.

                                "I just wanted to be sure he was okay... Where's the 'Government?'"

                                "At work, which is where I'm headed now that you two are here. I might have a case for you Sherlock, let me see what they have in forensics. If I can manage I'll give you a few days to settle in before I bother you."

                                "Oh it's no bother..."

                It turned out Greg needed Sherlock that afternoon, so John stayed home with Hamish and Sherlock went back to work. The two men ran down a perpetrator, chasing him straight into the edge of a building. Sherlock had been unable to stop the force with which he was moving forward and he tripped, managing to break his leg.  Greg forced him to go to A&E where he was put in a cast and told he would have to let his leg rest to heal properly. Which meant at least three weeks off the streets. Once John and Hamish found out Sherlock knew he was trapped. John would never let Sherlock force his way back onto a case until he was healed and Hamish was overjoyed because it meant his father's would be home with him. But John wasn't stupid he knew this would be dangerous - three weeks of Sherlock around the flat would not keep him occupied.

                                "Before you even say it - you can't be bored. But I have a task I think you can help me with." John smiled.

                                "What?" Sherlock looked eager and excited.

                                "We're going to tell Hamish the stories of the Captain and the Pirate Prince, so that I can write them down."

                                "All of them?"

                                "Yes! Your perspective and mine. I think it would be an adorable little thing to have written up. Then he can read it himself as he gets older." Sherlock moved to protest and John smirked. "It'll help him look for details in cases."

                                "How... Oh..." Sherlock blushed. It was true, comparing the two witness accounts would sharpen his mind. "Oh alright..."

                                "Yea! Daddies tell me a story!" Hamish giggled, settling down in Sherlock's lap. Sherlock gently ran a finger over the small golden key around his neck - smirking as John's caught the light around his neck.

                                "Well little Prince, it all began many years ago..." Sherlock began softly, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Keep your eyes posted for a few new works from me in the coming weeks. I am currently working on a Vamp!Lock story and a story called Experiments. 
> 
> I am happy to accept prompts if you'd like to see me write something just send me a note!
> 
> Tumblr: HollyGlow (HollyGlowandMistletoe for Christmas)  
> E-mail: KayC3367 at hotmail dot com

**Author's Note:**

> A note on Hamish - I opted to go the route of having Harry be a surrogate rather than any other method because to me it seemed so natural with the way the story was intending to go. The overall arching back story focuses on some things of my own creation for the history of both Sherlock and John, which made it seem perfectly fitting that Harry would have wanted to give John a family of his own.
> 
> There will be more explanation on the relationship between John and Harry in later chapters.
> 
> As always feed back and kudos are appreciated!


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